The Perfect Path in the Pie
by Skole
Summary: Seeley Booth gives up Pie for Lent and finds his way back to Brennan. Post-Hannah fic - written for the Bonesology Winter Hiatus challenge. Chapter 19 is up: She Blinded Me With Science - reviews appreciated!
1. Prologue: The Temptation of Seeley Booth

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Prologue: The Temptation of Seeley Booth**

**Disclaimer:** BONES does not belong to me. I'm just keeping the characters all warm and safe during the Winter hiatus, because I'm kind and caring like that...

**A/N: This is a story for the **_**'40 songs in 40 days challenge'**_** at Bonesology. The playlist comes from the Rolling Stone magazine - Top 40 songs of all time list. The aim of the challenge is to refer to all 40 listed songs and complete the fic prior to the end of the US Winter hiatus. I'm aiming for daily updates (don't faint away...Tequila was written in this format), possibly more frequently on some days - because I'll be on vacation. I'll also mention that this is ****not**** a song-fic.**

**The setting of this story is post the departure of that 'delightful creature', Hannah. B&B have to find their way back to each other somehow - so here is one way it could play out – it is set during Lent, I'm not a Catholic, but Booth is. I really hope that you enjoy reading - it is going to be a strong T...it may even go to M, but I'll give fair warning. Reviews will be used to caress the naked torso of Seeley Booth, so please, give generously :P**

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Monday, March 7th 2011 - The Royal Diner (Clean Monday – Two days prior to Lent)

Special Agent Seeley Booth sat down heavily on the chair opposite his partner, the expression of annoyance on her face mirroring the annoyance that he also felt following their wasted day.

"Well, I hope that you learned something from the Program today, Bones, because the whole thing was a complete waste of my time. What was Hacker thinking?" he asked.

Brennan made an effort to reel in her temper. "Are you saying that Hacker was the one that insisted that we attend today's pathetic Operation Redemption Task-force Orientation Day? Because if that is true, I have indeed learned something today - Hacker clearly was not thinking."

"Excellent point, Bones," he remarked as he perused the laminated menu with the specials listed. "As usual, you've hit the nail on the head. So, what are you having?"

She worried her bottom lip unconsciously as she looked at her own menu. "Although I found today to be an extremely ineffective use of my time, Deputy Director Hacker's poor judgment has not driven me to pie yet. I will have soup and salad."

"Ha! You? Driven to pie? That I'd like to see, Bones." he replied. "Hacker should have brought us in as Consultants on this task-force. Being relegated to _'team members'_ is a bit of a smack in the face, y'know?"

She met his amused gaze, a twitch of a smile at one corner of her mouth. "It's probably just political point scoring on his part. I have always found his dependence upon agendas to be highly unattractive."

"That's why he's in the Executive corridor at the Hoover...and why he's a doofus. Real investigators don't have time for all that crap," he said conspiratorially.

"Which is why I find you much more attractive than Andrew...objectively," she faltered, seeing the flash of pain in his eyes, realising she had touched on a sore point. It had been mere weeks since Hannah had parted ways with Booth.

"Yeah, well thanks for the confidence vote there, Bones!" he said in a self-depreciating manner. "I'm going to have the usual...and a slice of pie."

Brennan grinned. "Pie _'is'_ your usual, Booth. So you're having your usual _'and'_ your usual. Which is a little redundant, don't you think?"

Booth held up a finger and sat up a little straighter in his chair. "Ah, that is where you are mistaken, my dear Bones!" he said, in a Sherlock Holmes impersonation. "Your partner is giving up pie for Lent."

The waitress arrived and took their orders, pouring them each a cup of coffee, before retreating back behind the counter

.

Brennan's amusement was almost palpable. "Seeley Booth? No pie, for forty days and forty nights? Isn't Lent about prayer, fasting and abstinence?"

"Actually, it's forty-six days, Dr. Know-it-all. The Sundays during Lent don't count...and yeah, I'll be praying and seeking redemption; plus all that superstitious stuff that you love to hate."

"Well, abstinence won't be a problem," she muttered.

"Say what?" asked Booth. It was just her style to throw that kind of comment out, but the muttering was new.

Her cheeks grew pink with embarrassment. "I apologise, Booth. I should have considered your recent break-up with Hannah before making that kind of observation. It was insensitive of me."

He realised that she really was sorry. Temperance Brennan, reigning champion of the unapologetic for as long as he had known her, was looking at him like she'd just kicked a puppy. It was both confronting and endearing to him at the same time. He just wasn't willing to go there. Hannah's departure was still stinging like a paper-cut on his ego.

.

"Eh! It's okay, Bones. I'm a big boy and if anyone can take a dig at me and get away with it, it's you," he admitted with a cocky grin, which turned to a teasing smile. "Besides, if you were participating in Lent, abstinence wouldn't be a problem for your either, right?"

She rolled her eyes at him, before glancing out of the window to hide the sting of the comment. "I suppose that I asked for that..."

"You're not going to hit me are you?" he said holding up his arms in a defensive posture.

"No, Booth. You were being affectionate. I know that. Thank you for warning me about your plans to give up pie for Lent. Hopefully the next six weeks on this task force will keep your mind distracted from what you're missing." Her last statement was loaded with innuendo that Booth chose to ignore as a basket of fries was brought to the table.

It was going to be a long six weeks, in more ways than one. That much was evident.

.

* * *

Tuesday, March 8th, 2011 - Royal Diner (Shrove Tuesday – One day prior to Lent)

It was a little bit like Groundhog Day. Same seats at the Diner; same pissed off expressions. Day Two of the orientation for Operation Redemption had surpassed the worst-case scenarios of both Booth and Brennan. Eight long hours of rookie-level lectures by self-professed _'experts'_, punctuated by bad coffee, bad donuts and stale sandwiches, had left them both with dangerously short fuses.

When Andrew Hacker had turned up to press the flesh at the end of the day, inviting the high profile duo out for drinks on the Bureau, they had simultaneously moved to restrain each other by placing a hand on the wrist of the other. Their collective annoyance at Hacker's treatment of them was unexpectedly diffused, when the fingers reaching out to restrain their partner met and tangled in the middle. Suppressing their embarrassment, they turned the tangle of fingers into an impromptu hand-holding with interlaced fingers. The look on Hacker's face had been so classically crestfallen at their apparent intimacy that Brennan decided to add fuel to the fire, by announcing that she and Booth already had plans for the evening. The confident smile curling her lips screamed _'naked and sweaty'_ plans. Booth squeezed her hand in warning, which simply made him appear eager to get started on their plans, as he plastered on a neutral smile of agreement.

.

The menus with the specials was identical to that of the previous day. Booth announced that he was considering ordering a steak sandwich. Brennan was undecided.

"No pie, Booth?" she asked. "Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, so this is your last chance..."

"I'm not sure that I feel like pie after that performance in front of Hacker," explained Booth. "What were you thinking, Bones?"

She leaned forward with her forearms flat on the table, her index fingers tapping on the backs of his hands absently. "Andrew already believes that we have a sexual relationship, despite numerous repetitions of the truth of the matter on my part. He always asks, I always deny; he makes a pretence of believing me, then later on he will ask me again. Frankly, I find this to be very insincere on his part. He wants to believe that I'm sleeping with you, because he finds me a more desirable conquest that way."

"One day, I'm gonna punch him, right in the schnoz!" said Booth shaking his head.

"You'll have to get in line, Booth..." she said with a smile as she glanced at the menu on the table."Today is Shrove Tuesday, it would be appropriate to have pancakes."

Booth raised his eyebrows. "Pancakes? You celebrate Shrove Tuesday?"

"Not religiously. I happen to like pancakes. My Mom and Dad would make pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, we used to call it _'pancake day'_...although we would eat pancakes on other days of the year as well," she explained.

"Okay, pancakes it is, Bones!" he announced as he caught the attention of one of the staff to take their order.

"You're going to give up your last opportunity for pie, to eat pancakes with me?" she asked incredulously.

"I know, it's a sacrifice...I'm _Saint Seeley, Patron Saint of Pancakes_!" he announced.

Brennan gave an evil chuckle and poked his forearm with a finger. "I believe that you are engaging in blasphemy, Booth." She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "Will you confess it? Will you confess about our hand-holding deception too?"

"That is for me to know, and my Priest to find out, Dr. Temptress," he replied with a secretive smile.

She laughed at his name-calling. "It is a fortuitous coincidence that we're both abstaining from sex for Lent then."

"Hey, I'm the Catholic boy! Nobody asked you to abstain," he retorted.

"I know that," she replied, her lips pressing together to censor herself. "I respect your right to abstain for your reasons. All I ask is that you respect my reasons for doing so in return."

He took a calming breath and placed one of his hands over hers. "Yeah, I respect your reasons. I guess we both need some time to adjust..." he offered.

"I'm here for you, Booth," she offered in return. "If you want to talk... I know things have been difficult between us..."

"Thanks, I'll take you up on that. I promise," he said.

The arrival of two pancake stacks ended the conversation.

.

"Do you want my fruit, Bones?" he asked, pushing the selection of berries off the top pancake with a grimace.

Brennan had already speared half a strawberry with her fork and brought it to her lips. She gave a flirtatious smile. "Only if you want mine, Booth," she said.

"I'm gonna tell Sweets that you have a fruit fixation," he threatened.

"I'll just tell him that you gave it to me," she replied tartly.

"Just eat your pancakes," said Booth, knowing she would drive him to distraction with this conversation.

"Are you going to be this grumpy the whole time without pie?" she asked. "Because I might have to write to the Pope and complain."

.

He just looked at her for a long moment, as she dragged an impaled raspberry along her bottom lip. She stared right back at him until the tinkling of the door chime broke the moment. They both looked down at their plates and tucked in, before their pancakes went cold.

* * *

**A/N: Next Chapter is Ash Wednesday. The first day of Lent & the first of the top 40 songs of all time. I hope you liked the prologue, because I needed to set the scene.**


	2. Dancing in the Street

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Dancing in the Street**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES, or _'Dancing in the Street'_ by Martha and the Vandelas.

**A/N: Thanks for the overwhelming volume of reviews and alerts (and your faith in my ability to deliver this!) - seriously, it is like Christmas arrived early; my inbox is busting like a Christmas Stocking! **

**My intention is to weave references from the songs around the story, so as not to detract from the journey of B&B - see if you can pick up the references along the way. **

**You may have also worked out that there are 40 songs and 46 days in Lent, with the additional six days falling on a Sunday. Booth & Brennan are going to be working (and playing) hard on this task force - but they will get every Sunday off - so no song references for these bonus chapters...you'll get something a little different (insert maniacal chuckling here).**

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_Wednesday, 9th March 2011 - The Founding Fathers Bar (Ash Wednesday - 1st day of Lent)_

Brennan took a step off the sidewalk and paused for an opportunity to run across the street toward the entry of the Founding Fathers, as fast as her heels could carry her in the rain. She heard Booth running up behind her and felt the splashes of water that his feet kicked up onto her exposed ankles, saturating the hem of both legs of her pants in the process.

"Hold up, Bones," he said, as he held his suit jacket over both their heads and used his forearm to draw her underneath the makeshift shelter, as they waited for a break in the passing evening traffic.

Almost overbalancing as he pulled her closer on the sloping surface of the gutter, she steadied herself against his body by throwing out an arm to put around his waist. But as she stumbled her hand slipped down, her thumb hooking into his belt and her fingers instinctively grasping for purchase, which just happened to be slap-bang on the ass of a certain FBI agent of her acquaintance.

"Whoa!" said Booth, almost dropping his jacket over their heads in an attempt to prevent her falling.

"I'm alright," she replied, reluctantly releasing her grip on his ass and moving her hand up above the belt-line. His body was very, very warm, and he smelled so,...Boothy.

Booth gave a snort of amusement. "You've got to buy a guy a couple of drinks before you get to cop a feel, y'know!"

"I will be buying you drinks tonight anyway," she replied with a smirk. "In fact, I've been buying you drinks for years. I had no idea that it entitled me to molest your person."

"Molest?" he said. "Nice choice of words...sorta creepy though. I'd just stick with _'copping a feel'_."

"It was an accident!" she protested.

"Hey, I'm a guy, so on principle I'm not complaining!" he said with the Cocky smile that had virtually been on hiatus since his relationship with the blonde reporter had gone to the dogs. "You owe me a drink for that though..."

Brennan gave a derisive laugh. "Perhaps I'll save my money and keep my hands to myself," she said, as his hand slipped to her shoulder to guide her across the street.

.

"Spoil sport!" he complained, as they reached the sidewalk and the shelter of the doorway to the bar, where he shook the excess moisture from his coat. When he looked up, she was standing holding to door open with an arched eyebrow. Booth rolled his eyes at the latest in a long parade of feminist statements from his opinionated partner. He walked through the doorway adopting an exaggerated feminine sway to his hips, earning himself a hard swat to the ass cheek that had escaped being grabbed minutes earlier.

"Ouch! That's two drinks you owe me now, Dr. Spanker, and the second one should be a double!" he called over his shoulder.

She followed him inside, calling out after him. "It was worth every cent..."

.

They approached the bar, which wasn't too crowded for a Wednesday evening, waiting to place their orders.

"Maybe you should talk to Sweets about your violent streak, Bones," suggested Booth with a smirk.

"After almost seven years, you have a problem with it?" she asked, elbowing him out of the way and catching the attention of the young man behind the bar. She ordered single malt scotch for both of them. Doubles.

"I thought you said that it was _'hot'_ when I assault people?" she continued blithely, proffering cash to the bar attendant who flicked an appraising look at each of them before making a nervous grab for the money in her hand.

"See?" said Booth, as they made their way to a table. "You just scared the crap outta that kid behind the bar...and just so you know, I don't have a problem with you kicking ass and taking names...unless it's my ass in the firing line."

.

Brennan put her drink down on an empty table, before shrugging off her overcoat and placing it over the back of the chair.

"Duly noted," she said, before flopping down into her seat and taking a decent slug of her drink."I'd like to kick Hacker around for that travel schedule. I've had book tours with less stops on the itinerary," she complained.

Booth pursed his lips and huffed out a breath as the fiery liquid burned in his chest. "I'll hold him down, and you can kick him. Unlike you, I'm not entitled to the flyer miles, so I'll be vacationing in the airport parking lot this summer."

She glanced over her second, more measured sip of her scotch and smiled. "If you hold him down for me, I'll give you my miles. Chicago, New Orleans, New York City, Philadelphia, Detroit, Halifax, Manchester; not to mention all the driving that we'll have to do around sites in DC, Baltimore and Virginia."

"You remembered all those places?" he asked, half-teasing now. "I zoned out after New York City."

She poked her tongue out at him before tossing back the last of her drink. "Another?" she asked holding up her empty glass.

"Oh, yeah. But let's order some food, or we'll be hung-over at the conference call tomorrow," he suggested.

She stood and took out her wallet. "Okay, what do want?" she asked.

"Probably whatever you'll be having," he said.

"No meat?" she put a hand on his forehead with a mock-frown. "Are you unwell?"

He swiped her hand away. "Nope. Ash Wednesday. No meat."

"Oh, that explains the ash particulates on your forehead," she realised, extending the edge of her thumb, intending to remove the remaining grey smudge.

Booth grabbed her hand, wrapping his larger fingers around her own. "No. Leave it. Please. I'm surprised you even noticed."

"I _'am'_ very observant. You attended Mass this morning," she said as more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, I cut my run short, seeing as there's no pie intake," he quipped.

.

She looked down at his hand, which still gripped hers. His eyes flicked to his hand, before he caught her gaze; it was the variety of gaze intent on piecing together a set of observations before she made a decision. They had rarely ever been in the same chapter, let alone the same page of their relationship book. He wondered if she was catching up to the place where his bookmark was, or whether he was catching up to hers. These days, he was never sure.

He released her hand. She turned, still suspended in thoughtful silence, and walked over to the bar.

Watching his partner speaking with the staff at the bar, wearing her usual confident and competent demeanour; Booth reflected on his confessions, on his attitude to his faith, on the goals that he wanted to achieve. Hannah had been a Merry-go-round, he'd bought a ticket and had been dizzy with lust for months, she'd made him happy, he'd enjoyed the ride while it lasted. In the end, he realised that she was using him to try on her own version of moving on. She was tired of the Merry-go-round and saw him as the path to somewhere new and exciting. He didn't know the guy was who was her Merry-go-round, but it was clear that she missed her ride. Things had gone downhill since the case with the heart surgeon. He'd said to Brennan that Hannah wasn't a consolation prize, not realising that to Hannah, he was precisely that. Irony was a bitch, come to think of it, so was she for using him like a cross-town bus token.

.

"Perhaps I should go back and get the bottle," said Brennan, startling him from his reverie as she placed a new glass of amber analgesia in front of him.

"We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow, so getting shit-faced is not really an option," he replied as she sat down.

"You look...very sad," she offered. "I dislike seeing you this way."

"Well, I'm working on that. Trust me. I need some time is all," he admitted.

"Do you want me to request re-assignment from the task force? Dr. Edison could take my place...," she suggested, the flash of pain in her eyes indicating that it would be a significant sacrifice on her part to do so.

He impulsively reached out and grabbed her hands, which were clasped in front of her, the glass of scotch forgotten. "Nah, Bones. I need you around. That guy can't hold his liquor like you can...," he said in a weak attempt at levity, giving her hands a strong squeeze before letting go to take a sip of his scotch.

She reached for her own glass automatically, never taking her eyes from his, a slight widening of her eyes betraying that she had finally put the pieces together. Message received. They sat in a comfortable mutual silence until their vegetarian pasta dishes arrived.

.

Booth took a forkful of his tortellini and took a hearty mouthful, as Brennan watched on in amusement until he chewed and swallowed.

"Don't tell me what's in it, okay? It tastes good and all the tasty animals in the world can thank me later," he announced irreverently.

She simply shook her head at that comment, tucking into her own dish.

"So, Chicago, first thing Monday. Do you think they'll be ready for us?" he asked.

Brennan shrugged. "We have a number of appointments scheduled, and they have five sets of remains for me to examine, so I imagine that they are well prepared for our arrival."

"No, no...I'm talking a ticker-tape parade welcome, a guest spot on Oprah, people dancing in the streets!" said Booth, the alcohol clearly loosening his previously pensive mood.

"Oprah retired," she shot back, proving that she wasn't entirely clueless when it came to current events. "It's a pity that this murderous ring of criminals hasn't. I fail to see why the FBI won't push to have the remains brought to the facilities at the Jeffersonian."

Booth swallowed another mouthful of his pasta and held up his fork. "That's because this case was being handled by a dozen different agencies until the FBI profiler picked up on the patterns of restraint and kerf marks on the victims from two separate cases; then six, then ten cases. Now we've got a multi-jurisdictional pissing contest on our hands, which is the whole reason behind this task force. This syndicate is well organised, well resourced and peddles everything from porn to people. Including you and me in this whole deal, is simply bringing the mountain to Mohammed."

"Are we the mountain, or Mohammed?" she asked, with a small crease appearing above the bridge of her nose as she puzzled the metaphor.

"Y'know, it doesn't really matter," he replied. "All I know is that for the next six weeks, you're not going to be able to make that face that you do and pronounce that everything gets shipped back to the Jeffersonian."

"I do not make a face!" she exclaimed.

"Do too...it's like this...," he said, making a highly exaggerated pinchy face with a small pout.

"Oh, no, I do not. That face is ridiculous. I don't even think I could make that face if I tried!" she retorted with a laugh.

.

Cleansing their palates with a round of top-shelf bickering, Booth didn't even miss his usual serving of pie.

* * *

**A/N #2: One song down, 39 to go. Tell me...do you think we're going somewhere?**


	3. That'll be the Day

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 3 – That'll be the Day**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'That'll be the Day'_, by Buddy Holly and the Crickets.

**A/N: Yet again, I'd like to thank everyone for the fantabulous support for this story...all your reviews and messages are very inspiring & I keep adding things to my story planner **(which is a customised Excel spreadsheet of awesomeness)** when you make me laugh with your reactions to B&B.**

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Thursday, March 11th 2011 – The Hoover Building (2nd day of Lent)

Even though the conference call had lasted almost three hours, both Booth and Brennan now had a better feel for the kind of situations that they would be facing in their coming weeks on the taskforce. The criminal syndicate was a _Who's Who_ of malcontents, psychos and dissidents, kicked out of Triad gangs and asylums for the criminally insane, across the Asian continent in the past decade. The identity of their core leadership was safeguarded by defences as rigid as their blatant disregard for humanity. Even established criminal gangs around the world were contributing leads to the taskforce; the _No Han Han _apparently even gave organised crime a bad name.

The FBI profiler from the Philly office who had made the initial connections, blowing this case out into a full blown taskforce, had attended the Hoover in person for the meeting. Hacker was sycophantically basking in the radiance of the _'man of the moment';_ for once leaving Booth and Brennan to their own devices at the back of the conference room. During duller moments of the conference call, they had put their cell phones on silent mode, swapping case commentary and theories via text message. Booth considered that some of their surreptitious brainstorming had produced some really good ideas for lines of inquiry that he fully intended to follow up on. When the group broke for lunch, Booth told Brennan of his plan to transcribe their text messages onto the coloured note sheets that he favoured, she gave him a superior smile and showed him the screen of her Smartphone.

"What am I looking at, Bones?" he asked, leaning on the glass partition of the conference room.

"I copied and pasted each portion of our text message conversation into a spreadsheet record, complete with date-time stamps and the phone number of the author, so that you can follow it." She delivered this information with a self-satisfied smile.

"Wow!" said Booth peering at the screen. "If you tell me that you can get those babies to print onto my note cards, I'll be your body slave for a week!" he said with a laugh.

"If I tell you that the pagination of the spreadsheet that I just sent to your inbox is already set up to those specifications, do I get to choose your costume?" she quipped back, watching for his reaction.

.

Booth glanced nervously across the bullpen to where his office computer sat, wondering if what he found there would mean the difference between being dressed in an Armani suit, or a 1000 thread count lemon toga for the next week. His musings, which were now precariously tap-dancing on half a dozen potential sins, were rudely interrupted by Brennan being propelled forward against him as Hacker and the Philly profiler both attempted to exit the conference room door at the same time.

Brennan's forehead collided with his chin as she was thrown forward by 250 pounds of Philadelphia's finest profiler; eliciting a grunt from Booth, and a corresponding hiss of pain from his partner. The crack of the collision was audible, with several people turning to find Booth with his arms wrapped protectively around his momentarily stunned partner. The looks from some of Booth's colleagues ranged from mild amusement to calculated assessment; with those of the latter group seriously considering reopening the Booth and Brennan hook-up betting pool.

Following the recoil from the impact of her head against Booth's mandible, Brennan's instinctive reaction was to pitch forward and place both hands over her face. This caused her to collide solidly against her partner's chest; not a particularly soft landing, but not altogether unpleasant considering that his own instinctive reaction was to grab hold of her tightly until she was steady enough to push herself completely upright again.

Shaking her head slightly to recover from the sensation of being stunned, she removed her hands, finding herself standing in a half-embrace with her partner in front of a room full of people. Booth's arms dropped to his sides as a few sniggers erupted at the only source of excitement the Hoover had seen that week.

.

"Is your mandible painful?" asked Brennan wearing a concerned expression, using two fingers to probe at the area on his chin that had collided with her forehead.

"Ow! Only when you poke it, Bones!" he replied, bringing his own fingers to rub at the spot gingerly. "How about you? Is your head okay?" he asked.

"I predict that I will develop a mild headache, but the visual disturbance elicited by the contra coup force which momentarily stunned my cerebrum has resolved," she reported; getting a blank look from Booth in return.

"That probably sounded more painful than it looked, right Temperance," interrupted Hacker, sidling up with the Philly profiler in tow; a large man who looked completely mortified by the accidental event.

Brennan gave Hacker a direct stare. "Generally, when the human body collides with a solid stationary object, pain is invariably a consequence. My forehead is painful, because Agent Booth has a hard body," she pronounced in a lecturing tone. She gestured toward the large gut of the profiler. "Perhaps if I had collided with a more obese individual, such as yourself, I may have avoided painful injury altogether."

"Ouch!" muttered Booth behind his hand, trying not to smile.

.

Hacker tried valiantly to cover his response by giving a nervous laugh. "Agent Booth. Would you show our guest to his hot desk in the bull-pen, while I take Dr. Brennan to get an icepack for her head? We can meet up in the Executive Boardroom for our lunch in say, five minutes..."

"Yeah, sure thing," replied Booth, directing a concerned glance at his partner.

Hacker waved his arm toward the door. "After you, Temperance."

Brennan rolled her eyes and headed off to the elevators with Hacker hurrying to catch up to her.

.

"So, what are your impressions of the _No Han Han _syndicate?" asked Hacker, attempting to be the picture of professionalism, albeit one drawn by a pre-schooler in Crayola.

The elevator doors opened and Brennan stepped through. "I am not an expert in criminology, but from an Anthropological perspective, and using the Chinese translation of the gang name, this group are unlikely to conform to any acceptable cultural mores and will be focused on spreading oppression, whilst remaining isolated from mainstream criminal elements."

"You speak, Chinese?" he said.

"Yes," she replied in a tone that suggested that only imbeciles didn't speak Chinese.

"Naturally, you do, of course," said Hacker in cavity-inducing sweetness. He waved his hand again, as the elevator doors opened to the Executive corridor. "Shall we?"

.

Brennan stalked out of the elevator, her fists clenched in annoyance, her forehead now pounding.

The double doors to the decadently appointed boardroom stood open. The lunch guests had not yet arrived, but catering staff were milling around the tables along the walls, placing tureens and Bain Marie's of food into their proper places.

Brennan wasn't in the mood to eat, or to talk, and Hacker had thankfully disappeared, so she took the opportunity to probe carefully at the growing lump just below her hairline.

.

"Here, I brought you an ice-pack," said Hacker, proffering it like a piece of exquisite jewellery. She managed to mutter grudging thanks in his direction and placed the ice over her injury.

"It's wonderful to able to spend some time with you again, Temperance," said Hacker. "On behalf of the FBI, I just wanted to let you know that we missed having you around for those seven long months that you were in Indonesia."

"Thank you," replied Brennan shortly, just wanting the guy to shut up, or make himself useful by going away and finding some Tylenol for her.

"You know, we really should go out to dinner some time," he said.

"Why?" she asked bluntly.

He gave her a condescending smile. "Well, seeing as you and Booth are no longer an exclusive item, I thought that you might be interested in picking up where we left off last year."

"Not that it is any of your business, Andrew," began Brennan in a tone that would have sent a gangster running for cover, "But what is between Booth and I, is ours. I certainly don't intend to discuss it with you."

.

Booth, who had just arrived, skidded to a halt outside the doors of the boardroom as he heard her words. His compatriot from Philadelphia had gone to make a phone-call; presumably to his Mommy, on the basis of his stammering intent to find some way to apologise to the beautiful, and supremely pissed-off Anthropologist.

Hacker bristled slightly at her brush-off. "Well, now that you're back as a Consultant to the FBI, you should consider that any relationship outside the purely professional could be subject to disciplinary action."

Brennan removed the ice pack from her head and placed a hand on her hip. "By who?"

"By the FBI," said Hacker.

"By who at the FBI?" said Brennan, her eyes flashing dangerously. Booth heard her tone cross into kick-ass territory, but couldn't be bothered to intervene; he was having way too much fun.

"Ah, that would be...me," admitted Hacker with a weak smile.

"As I recall, you told me last year, when you wanted to date me, that you held discretionary powers over these matters. Are you suggesting that if my relationship with Booth were to become anything other than a working partnership, that you would ask us to say goodbye to six years of successfully solved cases and convictions?"

Hacker somehow discovered the dregs of some courage and decided to play hardball, to try and win over Temperance once and for all. "Well, I would be forced to take the issue under consideration...serious consideration."

"Consideration?" said Brennan archly. "Do you think that I don't recognise a threat when I hear it? Not only do I resent your continued implications regarding my existing relationship with Agent Booth; I find your assumptions flawed; that you believe that I would throw away any chance of personal fulfillment to take a chance on you?"

"Now, now, Temperance!" said Hacker in a placating gesture."We all know that you and Booth went your separate ways. Surely you can't blame a guy for wanting to stake a claim on a beautiful and available woman?"

.

Booth felt his gut drop like a stone. He wanted nothing more than to go into the boardroom and break up what was spoiling to be the smack-down of the century, but he recalled the words of his priest, and of Gordon Gordon Wyatt. Bones needed to work through this in her own way; at least until blood was shed. Continuing to listen intently, he completely ignored the wide-eyed catering staff that were blindly fleeing the room like lemmings.

Andrew Hacker didn't know how it happened, but he suddenly found himself backed-up against the wall of his cushy boardroom, with an index finger poking him in the sternum. Brennan's voice dropped half an octave, signaling that she was seriously pissed.

.

"You don't know me as well as you think you do, Andrew. I temporarily said goodbye to Booth last year, so that I could come to terms with the fact that there is a person in my life that I am able to cry for; that I'm willing to die for. If I had the chance, I'd give my money, career, fame, anything...to make things work between us. Are we understood?" she growled, giving him another poke in the chest for good measure.

"Fine, fine..." bleated Hacker. "I'm not going to stand in your way...just promise you'll call me, if things don't work out..."

A fist colliding with his nose was the last thing that Andrew Hacker recalled before his head collided with the boardroom wall from the force of the blow.

.

Brennan stood over Hacker's stuperosed form, massaging the knuckles of her right hand as Booth entered the room. "You are a foolish man, Andrew. I should have punched you a long time ago. Perhaps then I would have been more open to making the right decision when Booth asked me to take a chance with him."

"Hey…It's okay, Bones. Let's just go to my office and calm down, alright?" said Booth putting a hand on her shoulder as he extracted his cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed-dial number. "Hey, Charlie. Booth here. Can you get a medic to the Exec Boardroom pronto, DD Hacker tripped and fell into a wall. Luckily, Dr. Brennan was around to administer First Aid and raise the alarm. I'm just going to take her to my office, she's a bit shaken up, okay? Thanks."

Booth disconnected the call and looked at the now groaning and flailing doofus on the plush carpet. "C'mon, let's get out of here before he asks for your phone number."

She followed her partner mutely to the elevator, putting the icepack back onto her throbbing head.

.

"You heard what I said, didn't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer as they entered the elevator in lockstep.

"It wasn't anything that I didn't already know," replied Booth.

She removed the icepack from her head and slapped it against her thigh in frustration as the elevator doors closed. "How do you deal with knowing...without just wanting to...ugh...I don't know...!" She pushed Booth roughly against the wall of the elevator and kissed him briefly and aggressively on the mouth, before reeling away with a stifled sob.

He stepped up behind her and gently removed the icepack from her limp hand as she stood facing the elevator door, taking her hand in his. "It's Lent. I've been talking to my Priest, I've been coming to terms with a lot of things. I need to find peace, Temperance. That's how I'm dealing..."

She sniffed and released a long breath. "I know. We both need to find peace..."

"Yeah, but let's start with some Tylenol and a second ice pack for your knuckles, okay?" he said giving the fingers of her left hand a gentle squeeze."

"Okay," she replied.

* * *

**Two songs down...38 to go! Anyone got a cotton bolster for Hacker's schnoz?...anyone?**


	4. Gimme Shelter

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 4** **- Gimme Shelter**

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**Disclaimer:** BONES does not belong to me, even though I tried to bribe Santa for it... I also do not own Gimme Shelter, by the Rolling Stones

**A/N: Yes, I'm back again! I'll bet all this daily updating is making your head spin. For those of you following Progeny - Yes, there will be a Christmas update...and Yes, I've asked Santa for sanity this year. I'm loving all the reviews and messages, so thank you! For some reason this chapter exploded into super-long for a daily update…sorry about the extra length!**

* * *

Friday, March 11th 2011 - The Jeffersonian Institution (3rd Day of Lent)

For reasons that Dr. Temperance Brennan still couldn't quite fathom, she'd been advised that her presence at the Hoover was optional today. The FBI flunky who had called her on the previous evening had made broad-sweeping comments about her valuable time and procedural issues being covered that were not pertinent to her role on the task force. The upshot was that she gained some valuable time to be able to catch up on her responsibilities at the Jeffersonian, which were sorely needed because of the time that she would be spending in Chicago next week. If she'd actually cared about the motivations behind the change of heart at the FBI, she would have quickly deduced that Seeley Booth was playing firefighter over the incident with Hacker, attempting to save some face for his boss's boss, or perhaps what was left of his face if you wanted to be literal about it. Overall, it was a win-win situation; with Andrew Hacker the biggest winner by far, on account of his guarantee of an injury-free day.

.

Some of those _'procedural issues',_ however, were pertinent to Dr. Camille Saroyan; and judging by the thunderous expression on her face as she re-entered the lab, either her briefing at the Hoover had pushed her buttons like a teenager with unlinited text messaging, or DD Hacker had been throwing his charms around again.

Mr. Nigel-Murray was pontificating over the skeletonised remains of a World War One soldier on the platform, as Brennan engaged in academic target practice on him, by firing volleys of questions across the gurney to test his knowledge of all things Anthropological. The mildly annoying squintern pushed his gift for knowledge retention to the limit, as Brennan lobbed obscure questions in amongst those that the merely competent should know; a sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow with the effort. A small audience had gathered at the perimeter railing of the platform to watch the entertainment.

.

"Dr. B sure is giving that English Breakfast a good grilling," observed Hodgins.

Wendell smothered a guffaw of mirth. "I know, man. When I'm in the cross-hairs of the Brennanator, I feel like a man-sized Philly Cheese-steak."

"So, following your manly-meat metaphor, what would that make me?" asked Angela, nudging Hodgins with her shoulder.

Hodgins gave a low chuckle. "Oh, you're a prime, juicy Texas rump, baby!" he replied, slapping his very pregnant wife on her rump and attracting a glance of censure from the Brennanator.

"Which I suppose would make me a New York Rib-eye...and don't even think about trying to tenderise me, Dr. Hodgins," said Cam, who despite wearing four inch Prada heels had somehow approached the crowd of spectators without making any noise. The woman was a Haute Couture Ninja.

Hodgins gave a snort of laughter that earned him a death glare from Brennan. "Is there something pertinent that you would like to contribute, Dr. Hodgins?" she asked archly.

Cam stepped in to save Hodgin's bacon. "Actually, I needed to let you know that Booth will be here in ten minutes. I'll also be needing to speak to the team about the workarounds that we need to have in place to assist you during your trip to Chicago. I've sent the FBI briefing notes to everyone to look over via e-mail. This includes the list of constraints that the task force has placed upon the Jeffersonian, but they've left the implementation strategy to us. I'd appreciate your thoughts and input, Dr. Brennan. Would you join us for coffee on the Mezzanine in say, a half hour?"

"Certainly, Dr. Saroyan. A half hour," replied Brennan, immediately turning in a dismissive gesture in order to address the squnitern bracing himself for the next barrage of questions. "Mr. Nigel-Murray, your responses were highly satisfactory. Given time and continued application, you may become a competent Anthopologist one day. Please pack up and return these remains to Limbo. You will need to join the team for Dr. Saroyan's briefing."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," gasped the intern, before scurrying off to do her bidding.

"I'll be in my office, waiting for Booth," announced Brennan to no-one in particular as she stripped off her gloves and strode off the platform.

"So, Hodgie... What kind of steak are you?" asked Angela slyly as they left the platform.

"Oh, so many cuts of meat, so little space left on the grill; but you can butcher me anytime..." he said.

"Eww!" exclaimed Angela, punching him in the arm. "I think I'm gonna puke!"

.

* * *

Brennan was catching up on her e-mail and voice mail messages when Booth arrived to find her responding to an urgent message from her Building Supervisor. She gave a distracted wave of greeting, frowning at whatever the person on the other end of the conversation was telling her. She pressed her lips together in annoyance and rubbed absently at the small red mark that had been revealed by earlier absent rubbing, resulting the removal of the cosmetics that she had applied to cover the injury earlier that morning.

Addressing herself to the Building supervisor on the phone, she huffed and cleared her throat. "So you're telling me that the entire building is off-limits...the whole block has been evacuated?...Is there a risk of an explosion? Because I have a number of valuable artifacts in my apartment which are...Fine, I realise that the Fire Department make the rules...Can you provide an estimate of how long before the gas main is repaired?...How about the damage to the sewer pipes?...Well, I'll be in Chicago next week, but I'll need to access my apartment to pack some personal items...Sunday. Fine...For what it's worth, I hope you have a nice day too, but it sounds highly improbable."

She looked at her phone, then glanced over at Booth. "The call was disconnected," she commented with a shrug.

.

Her partner had made himself comfortable on her couch while waiting. "Trouble at your apartment?" he asked.

"Yes. A major gas main has ruptured in the vicinity of my building causing damage to sewer and water pipes in the process. The Fire Department and local authorities have evacuated residents, I won't be able to access my apartment until Sunday," she said.

"Make sure you tell the Fire Marshall to feed your goldfish," said Booth, attempting to lighten the moment.

"I don't have a goldfish...oh, you're trying to cheer me up. Very funny!" she said with a small laugh. "I had a goldfish as a child. Russ overfed it and it died."

"Aww, did you cry? Did you do an autopsy?" asked Booth with a teasing grin.

"I was seven, Booth, I can't remember if I cried...and it's not an autopsy, it's a necropsy..." Brennan gave a small sigh and rubbed at her aching forehead. "Now, in addition to my other weekend plans, I have to find a hotel and purchase toiletries."

"You don't need to find a hotel," he said.

"Why?" she asked, then answered her own question. "You're correct, I could just stay here at the Jeffersonian. I was intending to work tomorrow anyway because of the Science Fair. Dude is going to be here."

"Yeah, I know. I'm bring Parker. He's been bouncing off the walls and driving Rebecca crazy about it all week. I'm picking him up in the morning." Booth stood up and sauntered over to her desk and leaned forward assuming a cocky smile. "Why don't you hang out at my place tonight...?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate," she replied quickly. I'll ask Angela if I can stay at her place for a few days. I can borrow some of her clothes, something that I couldn't do from your wardrobe...," she added with a flash of a grin.

"Well, if you change your mind, there's grilled cheese, classic rock and Superman sheets at my place tonight," he offered.

"Don't you think that you're a little old for Superman sheets?" she asked with a tone of amusement, standing to put her jacket on.

"Funny. Real funny." Booth took a closer look at her forehead. "Hey, you've got a mark like one of those Indian red dots on your forehead, Bones. y'know, like Gwen Stefani used to wear when she was the lead singer of No Doubt."

"I don't know who that is..." said Brennan, putting her fingers to her forehead as she fished a small mirror from her desk drawer. "That is the mark left from yesterday, I suppose that it does look a little like a Bindi," she mused, grabbing a small make-up compact and covering up the small mark.

"A Bindi, is that what they call it?" asked Booth.

"Yes, it traditionally represents the status of a married woman in India, particularly in Hindu customs. Although it is popularised in modern societies as a fashion statement," she informed him.

Booth pointed at his chin. "I've got this mark from where you head butted me yesterday. Is there a name for that mark? Does it mean that I'm some sort of traditional Indian superhero?" he asked obtusely.

She laughed. "No, but it may go some way to explaining your Superman sheets. I can't even see any mark on your chin."

"It's there...see?" he said pointing.

Brennan leaned forward, bracing her arms on the desk, to examine his chin more closely. Then regretting the move as she recalled the frustrated kiss she had laid on him in the elevator.

_Focus. Chin...chin...lips...lips...CHIN, dammit!_

"I see slight residual swelling, but the mark that I'm observing appears to be razor burn." She extended her index finger to point it out, but Booth tilted his head to the side a little to avoid the poking phalanges.

"No, no. Don't poke it again! It'll hurt..." he whined.

Her finger gently ran over the slightly swollen spot on his chin. "Baby..." she chided with a smile.

.

Dr. Camille Saroyan, who had seen enough performances of the _'Love Game'_ at the Jeffersonian to understudy for Lady Gaga; she gave an epic double-take as she saw Dr. Brennan with a soft smile on her face, caressing the jaw of her off-again / off-again partner...calling him _'baby'_. Why on Earth Dr. Brennan had chosen this moment to decide to take a ride on Booth's disco stick, Cam would never know. After all, love was blind; and so would Cam be if she didn't put a stop to this soon.

"Ahem. I'm going to forego my standard lecture on fraternisation policy to just let you know that we're gathering on the Mezzanine now," said Cam, promptly turning on her heel and leaving.

Brennan frowned as Cam exited her office and gave Booth a serious look. "I find it very frustrating to be called out for flouting fraternisation guidelines, when we've committed no such crime."

"Then we should make the crime fit the punishment," suggested Booth, leaning in with the intention of planting a chaste peck on her lips. Objectively, it could have been classified as chaste if held up against a standard that was say, French...adult...X rated...

"Less frustrated now?" asked Booth, pushing back from the desk and preparing to leave.

"Yes, but..." began Brennan.

Booth gave a cocky smile. "I owed you that for yesterday in the elevator."

"We need to join the others," she said, lowering her eyes and fiddling with the position of her ID badge on her jacket.

Booth strolled out of the office. "I still owe you a couple of slaps to the ass," he teased.

She followed after him on autopilot, her mind racing, wondering what the hell had just happened. That sure as hell hadn't felt like she was kissing her brother. Come to think of it, it hadn't felt like that the first time either.

.

* * *

Arriving on the Mezzanine for the briefing, Booth made a bee-line for the coffee pot and poured them both a coffee. They sat down on one of the long couches. Booth let out a groan of disappointment as he spied pie on the table in front of them, his hand involuntarily reaching forward to take a slice. He received a light slap to his hand from Brennan.

She leaned toward him as he shook his stinging fingers. "If I can resist the urge, so can you," she murmured.

He tilted his head to reply. "It's easy for you, Bones, you don't even like pie!" he complained.

In a tone that almost made Booth stroke out on the spot, she asked a very valid question. "What made you think that I was referring to pie?"

.

Angela Montenegro was complaining bitterly about being forced to trudge up too many stairs in her condition. She waddled over to sit next to Brennan and Booth leaned forward to pour Angela a glass of water.

"Aww, thanks Booth!" cooed Angela. "It's a damned shame that'll be making me pee in three minutes flat, but it's the thought that counts right?"

Hodgins cut himself a slab of pie and started munching happily until the rest of the gang arrived.

.

Angela turned to Brennan. "I don't know how he can eat after what we just saw in those FBI briefing files. Murder, rape, kidnapping children, throwing families out on the streets, random shootings, fire bombings; this group are animals!"

"I know, Ange," said Brennan, patting her friend's hand supportively. "Animals are much better than...whatever these evil people are..."

"Well, if anyone can help break this case, it's us, right?" asked Angela.

"We're going to give it a red hot go," commented Booth.

.

"Oh, Angela!" said Brennan, suddenly remembering her homelessness. "My apartment building has been designated off limits because of ruptured gas mains. Could I come and stay with you and Hodgins this weekend?"

Hodgins groaned. "Oh, Dr. B...sorry...any weekend except this one. We have...house guests," he said evasively.

"But you have ten bedrooms. How many house guests can you have in one weekend?" wondered Brennan aloud.

"Oh, plenty..." began Hodgins before being shushed by his wife.

Angela eyed her husband. "You know you're not allowed to talk about it!" She rotated herself to face Brennan, as much as her belly would permit. "Sweetie. My Dad...and some of his...friends are coming to our place for a...reunion..." she hedged.

Booth sat forward, picking up on the conversation. "Rock and Roll Hall of Fame friends?" he asked, his voice getting a little squeaky with excitement.

"Booth, just shut up, okay?" hissed Angela. "Why do you have to use your FBI superpowers to bust open every secret you stumble across? We can't talk about it...security is already a nightmare."

Hodgins gave a grin. "It's gonna be great though," he said, bursting into an impromptu guitar riff. "Boww, nana, bow wa wa wowww!"

Vincent Nigel Murray had just arrived back from Limbo. "Ooh, I know that one! That's..."

Angela pointed a finger at the squintern. "Don't even think about uttering another word! If you lock in those lyrics, I guarantee that the wrath of Texas will descend upon your house for generations!"

.

"Don't worry about it. I'll book into a hotel," said Brennan, ignoring the fact that her intern looked like he was going to pass out.

"Good luck with that," said Hodgins conspiratorially. "We've had to put up members of some of the entourages in tour buses at my place...hotels are booked solid."

"Well, I'll just sleep in my office then," Brennan decided.

"No, Bones. You can sleep in Parker's bed. I'll even change the Superman sheets for you. there is no reason for you to sleep in your office, okay?" said Booth decisively.

"See?" said Angela. "Go and stay with Booth. I won't feel so bad about not being able to shelter you in your hour of need..." she said, beginning to tear up. "I'm sorry Bren...hormones, y'know."

"Please, don't be upset Angela. I'll be fine. Parker's bed will be fine. I don't want you to worry about me," said Brennan as her BFF began sobbing on her shoulder.

.

* * *

"You redecorated." commented Brennan as she stepped into Booth's apartment. They had just finished a couple of hours of prep work for their Chicago trip and had taken a rain check on grilled cheese, grabbing a light meal at the Diner. Booth had not even flinched when he walked past the pie plate displayed on the counter.

.

Booth threw his keys into a bowl near the door and pushed the door shut. He flicked on the stereo which was tuned to a classic rock station. "Yeah, Parker wanted a more grown up theme in his bedroom, so a couple of months back, we painted his room...I kind of got a kick out of it. I've been fixing things up a little at a time. Pops came to visit last month and he gave me some furniture that he'd been keeping in storage since he moved to the nursing home. I got his old bed, come see, it's practically an heirloom!"

Brennan walked through the apartment that was familiar, but different. From an Anthropological perspective Booth was trying to surround himself with things that he associated with happier times in his past. On another level, he had scrubbed the apartment of every trace of Hannah. It made her sad and happy all at once. He must have hurt badly when his relationship failed, but she found that she no longer felt uncomfortable here, unlike some of her visits following her return from Indonesia.

.

The bed was antique, hand carved, by a European if she wasn't mistaken. She walked over to the headboard, entranced by the intricate dark stained wood work. Her fingers reached out to touch the scrolls and leaves, the varnish was old, but well maintained. It must have been stored carefully.

"This bed pre-dates your grandfather, Booth. Has it been in your family for a long time?" she asked, flicking a glance at him watching her in a guarded fashion from the other side of the bed.

"Yeah, it was given to his grandmother as a wedding gift a long, long time ago. I don't know the history, but Pops has promised to tell me someday," he replied.

"You should take a voice or video recording when you do, Booth. Oral histories are lost too easily in modern times," she said, now running her hand over the twisting curves of the finials. "It was probably a marriage bed. A symbol of love, honesty and lifelong commitment. Your ancestors have more than likely been born, died, and mated for life in this bed. Do you lie here and think of them? I would...if I were you..."

Booth wondered when she'd become so...free around him. He thought about it for a moment and he knew when it had started, even if he had been trying not to pay attention. That case, where she'd gone off the rails, when she'd admitted the truth, her mistake. He hoped it wasn't too soon to be thinking about them this way, because he seriously didn't to mess up any chance of a future.

.

She took his silence to be an objection to her words. "I'm sorry Booth. Did my referring to your ancestors being born and dying in your bed offend you...I was just looking at it through the eyes of an Anthropologist...it's a bad habit..."

"No, that's okay, Bones. It's a part of my family history, people being born and dying doesn't bother me. Besides, I bought a brand new mattress. It cost me a packet, but my back has never been better." He hopped up onto the mattress and lay down with an exaggerated sigh of satisfaction.

"That is very good news. You won't be needing adjustments from me then," she said with a genuine smile as she looked down at him wearing his _'kid in a candy shop'_ smile.

He patted the space next to him and she flinched. "C'mon give me a professional opinion, one of your doctorates is in human movement right?" he said, not letting on that he'd seen her balking at his gesture like a skittish horse.

"Kinesiology," she corrected with a small smile, her confidence reasserting itself. "I'll try it and then you can tell me what you paid for the mattress. Then I'll tell you whether you were taken for a ride by the sales clerk."

"You're on," he said with a laugh. "But I'm telling you, I screwed them to the wall for the deal I got on this mattress."

Brennan kicked off her shoes and gracefully arranged herself on the right side of the bed, all business-like, and cleared her throat before closing her eyes.

.

After two minutes of complete silence, Booth began to worry. "Hey, are you awake?" he whispered.

"Yes," she replied, opening her eyes. "Why are you whispering?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter," said Booth. "I promised never to tell anyone about the price, but here, I'll whisper it to you." He turned onto his side and spoke the low, low price next her ear.

She fought the impulse to squeeze her eyes shut at their proximity. When she heard the price, she smiled. "Did you use you badge and gun to screw them to the wall? Because I want to take you with me next time I want to purchase a bed."

"It was great deal, right?" he said flopping back onto the mattress and letting out yet another mammoth sigh. "Hey, Bones...can I ask you a question...it's kind of personal, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Okay," she said. "But only if I get to ask a question too," she added quickly.

"Deal," he agreed, before she could back out. "You've told me what you think of this bed looking at it as an Anthropologist. What do you think of it looking through the eyes of Temperance?" he asked.

The eyes of Temperance closed to hide the telltale signs of tears. "You want my opinion as a woman? I'm not exactly the best candidate to provide the generic female perspective," she deflected.

"I'm not interested in generic. I'm interested in what you think about it...you don't have to answer," he said quietly, his voice was almost drowned out by the sound of the Rolling Stones drifting through the apartment.

She took a breath. "No. It's okay. I just wanted to clarify what you were asking is all."

"So, you think my bed is...," he began.

"A special place. A peaceful place. You're lucky to have it. If you ever decided that you didn't want it, I'd buy it from you..." she offered with a smirk; trying to wind him up.

"Not for sale," he said bluntly.

"I know, I'm being affectionate...or at least I'm trying to be," she explained. "Did that answer your question?"

"Yeah. Okay, your turn. Question time, shoot...and no squinty questions either!" he said with a chuckle.

"Fine, I'll keep it simple," she said in a teasing tone, marveling at the roller coaster that her emotions were on in this conversation. "When you're here lying on this beautiful piece of furniture, with generations of history; when your mind is at rest...What do you think about?" she asked turning her head to one side to look at Booth.

He turned his own head to meet her gaze and when he saw the expression on her face, he very nearly chickened out. He answered honestly. "I think about you."

She turned onto her side, struggling with the truth, but not struggling against it. Things were different now; she had learned a thing or two in the past year. "Why?" she asked. Because despite everything that her heart was screaming at her, she still sought the shelter of her rationality. It was like breathing.

He rolled to face her. "You know why. You've known for some time."

"I know," she replied. "I think I need to sleep now. Can I kiss you goodnight?"

"Only if I can kiss you goodnight," he retorted gently, moving in to do just that.

The kiss was mainly sweet, with just a hint of sensual; it was intended to be a precursor to sleep after all.

.

Parker's bed remained unused. Safe in the grip of a horizontal guy hug, Temperance Brennan slept.

* * *

**A/N 2: Another 37 songs to go...OMG! Am I completely insane for taking this on?**


	5. No woman, no cry

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 5 - No woman, No cry**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'No woman, No cry', by Bob Marley and the Wailers.

**A/N: Thank you for all the A-mazing feedback. I'm a happy writer, who now happens to be happily on vacation...Yes! More writing by me… for you. Tomorrow's chapter is a bonus 'non-Lent day' and therefore won't have a reference to the Rolling Stone magazine's Top 40 songs of all time. I am working in reverse order through the list, in case you're wondering. Alright, enough of my mutterings, on with the story...**

* * *

Saturday, March 12th, 2011 - Booth's bedroom _(Muahahaha!)_ (4th Day of Lent)

Brennan awoke to the sound of voices. She had woken earlier...much earlier, at 4:30 by a restless Booth stirring in his sleep. He had obviously turned off the radio and climbed in under the covers while she slept, but not before putting a blanket over her at some point during the night. It had been cold at 4:30, so she'd quietly slipped off her jeans and crawled under the covers herself, smiling at the warmth radiating from her partner. She could have gone to sleep in Parker's bed, but rationally, it would have been cold and her chances of getting back to sleep would have been close to zero. It wasn't as if she hadn't slept in the same bed as Booth before. Okay, he'd had Cam as girlfriend when they were in Vegas; and as for that tiny bed in the caravan for the undercover circus case, it had been uncomfortable, but they managed.

.

Glancing at her watch she saw that it was almost 7:30. Booth had mentioned going to Mass on his way to pick up Parker, and she had planned on being awake to tag along. They had to be at the Jeffersonian by 9:00, so there was time to shower and change. Judging by the smells drifting into the bedroom, there were waffles and coffee. Rolling onto her back, she stretched and her fingers trailed over the carved wood that just begged to be touched and closed her eyes again.

"What are you thinking about, Bones?" asked Booth.

"I'm thinking about waffles, coffee,...and you," she said, reciprocating his own honesty of last night.

She opened her eyes to find him leaning against the doorway in blue jeans and a black T-shirt that flattered his well defined torso. Angela called it Booth's 'Sex on legs ensemble', from a horizontal perspective, Brennan could fully appreciate the interpretation of her artistic friend.

"In that order?" he asked.

"No..." she said with a smile. "This is a very comfortable bed, I slept well."

"You also hogged all my blankets just prior to six a.m.," he complained.

"Did not..." she said, burrowing under the blankets possessively.

.

She heard his approach, then the blankets were pulled back, exposing her head. "Did too...!" he retorted. "If you're waiting around for breakfast in bed, I'm sorry, I gave the butler the day off."

She gave a laugh that was still husky from sleep. "I was hoping for _'good morning'_, not an eviction order."

He leaned in over her and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she replied, suppressing sensations that no kiss on the nose should have been able to trigger.

He noted her slight flush but knew that this was the place, but not the time. "C'mon, Parker is gonna eat your share of waffles if you don't get a move on."

She rolled her eyes and threw back the covers, giving him an eyeful of leg. "I'll take a shower then I'll be right out."

He turned to toward the door. "Wanna guess what I'm thinking about now?" he asked.

"I'm not a psychic," she replied preparing to get out of bed as he left the room.

"And I'm not blind..." he said just loud enough for her to hear.

.

* * *

Emerging from the bathroom, her hair still hair damp, but looking considerably less tousled that when she'd seen her reflection in his bathroom mirror ten minutes earlier, she joined Parker and Booth at the table.

"Hey, Bones!" exclaimed Parker. "Dad said your place got blown up. Did the pool get blown up too?"

"Good morning, Parker," she said evenly, as she poured herself a coffee, not really sure how Booth had explained her presence.

The boy recalled his manners after a loaded glance from his father. "Morning, Bones." He gave a toothy grin, his adult teeth looking oversized in his pre-pubescent face.

"It was only the pipes that blew up. The apartment and the pool are all still there, isn't that right, Bones?" asked Booth with a wink.

Brennan gave Parker a smile. "That is correct. You should be able to come over and swim next time you come to spend the weekend with your Dad, if that's okay..."

"Awesome! Can we, Dad?" asked Parker leaning up against Booth's arm affectionately.

Booth made a show of thinking on the request. "If you keep your room tidy and your Mom says it's okay, yeah."

"Sweet!" said Parker, who leaned over toward Brennan. "I had to stop Dad from eating your waffles. He said you were taking too long in the bathroom..."

"Tattle-tale! Eat your waffles, pal. Or they're mine!" he threatened with a grin. The kid tucked in with gusto.

.

* * *

Parker tugged on Brennan's sleeve as they approached the SUV. "Bones?"

"Yes, Parker?"

"Can you sit in the backseat with me, please?" he asked.

"If you want me to..." she replied, throwing a questing glance at Booth, who gave her a _'whatever' _shrug.

"Yes please! I want to ask you some questions about Professor Bunsen Jude before I get to meet him," said Parker enthusiastically.

"It would be a good opportunity to do so, Parker. I may have a few matters to attend to when we arrive at the Jeffersonian," she said.

.

"Okay, buddy! In you get, buckle up, you know the drill," said Booth as he clicked the door release on the vehicle.

Brennan followed Booth around to the driver's side to open the rear door. "Don't let Parker chew your ear off with questions, okay?" remarked Booth as she climbed in to the vehicle.

"I'm used to it," she said with a grin.

.

The first question came as Booth pulled the SUV to a stop at an intersection.

"Bones? Will you be Dad's girlfriend now that Hannah has gone back to Hell? asked Parker seriously.

"Say, what?" said an incredulous Booth.

"You said that Hannah went back to Afghanistan...but you said that Afghanistan was Hell too. So isn't that where she's gone?" reasoned Parker employing the simple logic of a child.

Booth drove on in awkward stunned silence. Brennan glanced at him via the rear view mirror, his eyes were fixed forward on the road.

.

"Perhaps I should tell you about the time when Dude came to work with me at the Jeffersonian," offered Brennan.

"Cool! Does he know all the names of the bones like you do?" asked Parker, successfully distracted.

"Yes, Dude knows about bones," she replied. "But not to the extent that I do."

"So if you were in a spelling bee about bones, you'd win, right?" Parker said with a wrinkled brow.

Brennan gave a laugh. "Oh, yes. I would win. Because I am the best in the world. Dude wouldn't stand a chance." Booth gave a snort of laughter from the driver's seat.

.

Parker picked up on the silence from the front of the vehicle. "Dad?"

"Yes, bud?" he replied.

"If you're lonely in the front, I can sit back here by myself and you can have Bones sit with you again...I've got my Nintendo DS," offered Parker.

Booth quickly gave a grin over his shoulder. "Nah, I'm okay. I'll ask Bones to sit up front with me on the way home, alright?"

"Okay," said Parker, quite content with the arrangement as he considered what question he should ask Bones next.

.

* * *

The Science Fair spread over several buildings at the Jeffersonian, with the Lab being only one section that kids could visit. A section of the area had been cordoned off from the public including the Mezzanine floor where staff and some of their family members gathered to watch 'Dude' tape a segment for his show. Brennan was not appearing in the show this time, but she smiled fondly as she recalled her crazy outfit and being mobbed by small humans following the show.

_'Dude'_ was giving one of his animated lectures about homeostasis, or _'Home-Me-O-Stay-Sis' _if you happened to be a child following his session.

Michelle was leaning on the balustrade next to Cam. "I loved the show that he did out in the snow, that showed how shivering works to maintain body temperature. _'When stuck in a blizzard, your body gets shivers.' _That was so cool. He was sat in his shorts in the snow and a Saint Bernard with a brandy casket around it's neck came to rescue him."

Cam gave a laugh, as did Wendell who gave his college frat boy version of the line. "When stuck in a blizzard, drink Brandy, get slizzered!" he quoted. Only Michelle, and surprisingly Dr. Edison laughed, everyone else present apparently failed to meet the required standard of _'hip' _in the humour.

After the taping session was completed Michelle took Parker off to the station where ice-cream was being made with dry ice. Then he wanted to do the baking soda and vinegar volcano and slime making and the Mentos soda-pop explosion... Cam smiled fondly as the babbling young Booth was led off by a smiling Michelle.

* * *

Brennan retreated to her office to do some work, tailed by Booth, who was in all honesty probably just going to watch her work.

"Parker is having a lot of fun," remarked Brennan as she closed her office door to shut out the noise of the activities outside.

"Oh yeah," replied Booth. "He's going to be totally wiped out tonight." Seeing her quizzical expression, he added, "...really, really tired..."

"I suppose that he will be. Is that a good thing?" she asked.

"Well, it's not as easy to do, now he's getting older. Parker is full of beans...energy," said Booth.

"I know what _'full of beans'_ is. My Dad used to say that about Russ all the time," she said. "I'm not completely clueless," she added a little defensively.

"Never said that you were, Bones," Booth said neutrally.

.

"For example, I could tell that Parker making reference to Hannah going to Hell upset you earlier...things didn't end well between the two of you...and I admit to feeling some responsibility..." she admitted, coming to sit on the couch next to him. "I'm sorry..." she said, her eyes conveying sincerity and traces of tears of regret.

He gave a sigh that communicated his pain. "You shouldn't blame yourself...she had a past...an on again / off again relationship with an Editor. It turned out that I was just a consolation prize...she never wanted a long term thing, never wanted to settle down..."

"So my...admission... to you wasn't the cause of your...?" she couldn't continue. Recalling the event was threatening to turn everything upside-down again. She folded forward, with her hands covering her ears trying to quell the wave of nausea and dizziness, holding in her tears.

"Is that what you thought?" asked Booth quietly. Only a small movement of her head and the ripple of silent sobs along her back indicated that she'd heard him. He ran his hand up and down her spine for a couple of minutes as she came to terms with her misplaced sense of responsibility.

.

Breathing out a long sigh, she sat up and turned to face him with wet cheeks and eyes a bright, bright blue; tension causing her to tremble on the verge of sobbing. "I never expected another chance. Part of me still doesn't. I thought that you were reluctant because I was to blame..."

"No! God no!" he burst out, pulling a her into a hug and just held her there. "Don't cry..." he said redundantly as he supported her in doing just that until the sobs subsided.

.

"You are not a consolation prize, Booth!" she said in a passionate outburst against his neck as she pushed herself out of the embrace to let him see her anger. "I hate her for hurting you. I told her that you give all of yourself to the woman you love, but she didn't listen..."

"Is that what you want, Temperance?" he asked. "All of me?"

"Yes! I told you that I made a mistake...I wanted it then...I want it now...I know you're not ready, but I can wait...as long as necessary..." The admission brought her both joy and pain. She was unsure if he wanted the truth when he had openly admitted to struggling.

"Maybe I'm not ready," he admitted. "But there needs to be truth between us...healing...trust. Do you trust me?"

"Implicitly," she replied.

"Okay. It's not going to be easy, but here's what we do first..." he began, pulling her close and initiating a kiss. If kissing was a language, it would have spoken of reassurance and hope and restraint. It was languid and tentative; an end to many things between them, but the humble beginnings of something much, much better.

* * *

Parker Booth spotted his Dad and Bones making out on the couch as he approached with Michelle attached to one hand and juggling a palm-sized glob of electric green slime in the other. Michelle stopped short of the door, she and Parker looked at each other and smirked.

"Do you think that Bones is my Dad's girlfriend now?" he asked the teenager.

"I think so, Parker. All that kissing is a bit of a giveaway, right?" said Michelle respectfully looking away from the intimate moment. Parker Booth had no such compunction, he continued to watch with a mixture of fascination and total gross-out.

"That is gross...puke-worthy. I think I need more ice-cream," announced Parker, as he considered ice-cream to be a cure for pretty much everything. As Busen Jude said, _'when things get icky, it's okay to get sicky'_.

Michelle gave a laugh. "Okay. But only if you promise to keep that green slime away from me. Maybe we can convince Cam to let us raid her stash of Oreo cookies...I know where she keeps them..."

"That, sounds like a plan..." drawled Parker, all that icky kissing already forgotten.

* * *

A/N: *adds Oreo cookies to shopping list* Okay, so a little more angst. But tomorrow should be more fun, right?


	6. Haven't You Heard?

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 6 - Haven't You Heard?**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own Haven't You Heard, by Jeff Buckley.

**A/N: Now that I'm on vacation, I've changed the time of day of my update schedule, so if you've noted the change in update times, this is why (but I updated Progeny in the interim, so I'm not slacking, okay?). This is the first of the non-Lent day bonus chapters, but in keeping with the classic song title inspirations, the bonus chapters will be inspired by tracks from my personal and somewhat eclectic playlist. Enjoy! **

* * *

_Sunday, March 13th 2011 - The first Sunday of Lent_

Booth cracked an eye open, having heard activity in his kitchen, he automatically whipped back his blankets and was quietly on his feet ready to investigate before he realised that it was Bones. The pre-dawn light suggested that it was about an hour earlier than he had planned on getting up.

Brennan was finishing a bowl of yoghurt and had just filled the kettle putting it on to boil, when she saw Booth emerge from his bedroom, immediately banishing the dull cramping pain that had woken her from her stubborn slumber on the couch. At their grilled cheese dinner on the previous evening, she and Parker had tossed a coin for the bed or the couch. Booth had been backed into a corner and Brennan had made her subtle point, which was that despite being kissed to within an inch of her life, she still wanted to give Booth some personal space.

"Backache?" he asked, as he saw the packet of ibuprofen on the counter next to a half-empty glass of water.

"Yes," she confirmed. "But not because I slept on the couch...," she added with a wry smile.

"Pure coincidence," he quipped. "Hold up, I've got something that will help." he promptly disappeared and Brennan returned to preparing a mug of raspberry leaf tea. He returned with a wheat-bag that he put into the microwave.

He gave a self-satisfied smile and leaned on the counter folding his arms across his chest, he nodded toward the bag slowly pirouetting on its way to optimum heat in the microwave. "Good for back pain, old sports injuries and war wounds."

"You must have a lot of those hot packs..." she commented, pouring boiling water into her mug. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure, thanks," he replied approaching to peer at the printed paper tag on her tea bag. "I might just stick with my own brand in the blue canister, if that's okay."

She gave a derisive snort as she reached for another mug and the canister. "That's understandable. The beneficial effects of my tea only extend to those who happen to have a uterus."

"No thank you, Ma'am. I'll be happily sticking with the gonads that God granted me," he said sardonically.

"Despite that statement being devoid of any and all logic, I find myself unaccountably reassured by your resolve," she observed drily.

"Ooh! Cranky Bones," he teased, coming to stand behind her. "Sarcasm is so hot...!" The last words were special delivery by hot breath next to her ear. The water that she was pouring into his mug missed its target, splashing onto the counter top.

"Would you like tea and Sunday Mass, or would you prefer to take me to hospital for treatment of third degree burns?" she asked. In the silence that followed, she continued on with the task of tea making, employing the last shred of control available to her at that moment. His breath still tickled wantonly at her ear.

.

Turning to face him while the tea brewed, she found herself close to being pinned against the bench by a man in boxer shorts and a T- shirt that was almost indecently snug.

"Good morning..." he said with a cocky smile, as she continued in her open appraisal of him.

"It is if you happen to be a male," she said in a tone which could only be interpreted as coquettish, glancing down meaningfully at his morning tumescence.

"Coincidence...maybe even a happy coincidence," he suggested. "I was hoping for _'good morning'_, not a late addition to _'things I'm gonna have to confess' _in a couple of hours."

"Good morning," she said, a wicked grin spreading over her face as her arms slipped around his waist. "I wouldn't want to add to your burden of guilt, so I'll be the instigator and you can continue having more of those impure thoughts that you're already going to confess."

"Do you have a doctorate in instigation?" he asked, leaning into her subtly enough to change the entire context of their embrace.

She laughed in an intimate tone that Booth had only heard in his dreams. "I'll let you be the judge of that..."

He didn't get the chance to answer as her previously innocent hands at his waist altered their mission parameters. His head was pulled down into a connection of their lips that commenced with soft pecks and spiraled down into nibbles and earthier lip play. Her other hand ventured south in a feinted move that suggested she was simply going to brace herself against the counter, she ran her hand down her own hip, across her own belly, and heading down toward her own sex, before reversing trajectory, using a thumbnail to graze slowly up along the underside of his. The ensuing amorous rush, caused him to open his mouth to her invading tongue. Second base was stolen by the tea lady.

.

They had only really begun getting to know each other on this new, physically intimate level on the previous day and she was subtly making a point; doctorate or no doctorate in instigation. They were both adults, neither of them naive; neither of them inexperienced when it came to sex, but their mutual hesitation and desire to take things slowly in this area was going to be a challenge.

Their morning make-out was heading down a sensually slippery slope as they both lost themselves in the level of intimacy that had consciously chosen to reside in for the time being. It wasn't going to end up naked and sweaty, but the experience was new, exciting and incredibly pleasurable. They had to stop eventually, but not before she cupped him possessively in retaliation for the questing hand that had laid claim to her breast.

It was the microwave oven that called the end to the round, signaling that the wheat bag was hot enough as its contents stopped being bombarded by microwaves. There was a small message from the Universe, commonly known as _'saved by the bell'_.

They broke apart, both breathing heavily and feeling overly warm in the cool morning.

.

"I think the tea is brewed," she remarked as he used the hand that had just vacated her breast to brush her hair back from her face.

"Yeah, I think the hot pack is ready. D'you wanna lie down?" he asked, his eyes flicking to his bedroom, before opening the microwave.

She held out his tea and he took it and exchanged it for the hot pack as she gave him a highly amused look.

"What?" he asked.

"You appear intent on subverting your own efforts to remain pure this morning," she replied. "How about you join me, on your couch?"

"You drive a tough bargain, Bones. My intentions were pure...," he protested, following her over to the couch.

.

She gave a laugh that communicated her total disbelief of that last statement. Brennan took a sip of her tea, before putting the mug onto the coffee table and taking a seat, placing the hot pack behind her lower back and pulling the blanket back over her legs with a sigh of relief. Booth sat down next to her and immediately tried to steal her blanket, receiving a slap to his outer thigh in response.

"Ow!" he complained.

"Drink your tea," she suggested helpfully.

"Do you think it will always be like this?" Booth asked, then seeing her questioning look, he realised that he needed to be a little more specific. "I mean, you and me...this whole back and forth bickering that we do..."

She gave a grin and leaned forward to grab her tea and took another sip contemplating her answer, she had been wondering the same thing.

"If by that, you mean will our having sex permanently alter the dynamic of our relationship? Judging by our existing attraction and more recent physical explorations, I would say that the possibility of my becoming a sweet stereotypical pile of feminine goo would be merely transient," said with a smirk, before turning slightly to face Booth. "When I dated Sully...despite our being compatible on many levels, I felt pressured to be...more vulnerable in order to be what he wanted. When you asked me to give us a chance last year, I thought that you were asking me to be something that I couldn't possibly be...and I came to realise that my assumption was wrong. You are probably the only person in my life who wants me to be myself."

"That there, is exactly what I'm talking about," he said. "You've just complimented me, encouraged me and challenged me, all at the same time."

"I happen to be an outstanding multi-tasker," she said. "Are you suggesting that we _should_ somehow modify our behaviour toward each other, to make our relationship work?"

Booth shook his head. "I think we tried that when we got back from overseas. We can't ignore or remove the things that make our relationship work, regardless of whether we happen to be sleeping together."

"I agree, my world was _'greyer'_ without you. Although, I'd prefer it if we were sleeping together...and by that, I am specifically referring to a sexual relationship. We have...an affinity," she said.

"You mean chemistry?" he asked.

"Using the vernacular interpretation, yes," she said. "But you are not ready, because you are rebooting."

"Rebounding, Bones. Maybe, a little...but God's truth, sometimes when I was with Hannah, I felt like I was on the rebound...from you," he admitted.

.

She was silent for a long moment. "My preference has always been to set the pace in my sexual relationships, but with you...now...it's different. It's not about one of us being in control, this is like the rest of our partnership. We need to defer to each other along the way, there's no formula..."

"It scares the Hell out of me too, if that makes you feel better," he said, moving in closer to wrap an arm around her shoulder. "I'm not afraid to be honest around you, I'm not afraid to be myself, and I only want you as you are...what we might become is the thing that scares me."

"Because our sex life could impede what we have?" she asked.

He kissed her forehead and smiled. "No, because _adding_ sex will make us even better. I'm not sure that the world is quite ready for that, Temperance. In fact, the world could be doomed if we don't!"

"You are so damned cocky, mister, more than enough for both of us. I'll be surprised if there will be room in your bed for me!" she chided good naturedly.

"Speaking of which, enough of this sleeping on the couch. Sex or no sex, you should sleep in my bed. It's just another form of denial..." he said.

"You sound like you've been talking to Sweets...and I tossed that coin with Parker and won the couch fair and square!" she complained. "However, I take your point, where I sleep has no influence on the where we eventually consummate our relationship. It could happen at my place, the back of your SUV, in a hotel on a case, in a shower, on this couch..."

"Way to give a guy impure thoughts just before going to Mass, Bones!" he said. "But seeing as I'm leaning toward _'All of the above'_ from those options, how about another kiss before I have to shower?"

"Very well, but don't take too long in the shower, because I have to go over to my apartment and collect my belongings. You can drop me off on your way to Mass," she suggested.

"Deal, now put down that tea and get those lips over here, woman!" he growled.

She placed her now empty mug on the table and returned to drape her torso over his. "Where specifically would you like my lips?" she asked cheekily, landing her lips over his before had a chance to answer.

* * *

**Aa always, it is great to hear your thoughts... next update in a few hours :D**


	7. One

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 7 - One**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own One, by U2

**A/N: Once again, my profound thanks to everyone taking the time to read, in particular those of you taking the time to make comments via review. I did a little background research on this song, it is truly a fascinating study of relationships...I'm not sure I can actually do it justice in this story, but a gal can try, right?**

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* * *

_Monday, March 14th 2011 - Chicago, Illinois (5th Day of Lent)_

Somehow, in the space of twenty-four hours, they had managed to emerge into a new phase of their relationship. The awkwardness of forced co-habitation was gone, they were on the same page about their baby steps toward physical intimacy, they would continue on in their working partnership as they did at their best...allowing each other the privilege of getting to carry the other as the need arose.

Seated in the only two available seats allocated together on the flight, they had ended up in coach. Brennan was deliciously grumpy at the long-suffering airline staff, their six a.m. check-in had meant that she had been torn prematurely from their first official night together. She had taken Booth's proffered hand and willing gone to a man's bed without sexual intercourse being a factor in the decision. Knowing that the super-early start would be necessary, Brennan had taken some time to complete all packing and preparation prior to dinner on the previous evening. They had gone to the Founding Fathers for a meal and a couple of drinks, arrived back at his place showered (separately) and called it an early night. That early night had involved pillow-talk and heavy petting until Booth called _'Uncle'_, threatening to call _1800-CONFESS_.

The rude awakening of her cell phone alarm had given her very little time to process the sensation and feelings elicited by the large slumbering hand splayed over her hip. The way that the fingers on that hand had awoken; burrowing under the layers cotton to trace random circles and patterns between her ribs and her hips as she lay on her side wishing for either more sleep, or more time for play. Neither of which were granted when Booth's cell phone alarm chirped less than two minutes later.

.

The aircraft reached cruising altitude and the attendants served breakfast. Booth bitched about the Parker-sized serve; Brennan donated her meal to him, seeing as the airline had managed to misplace the vegetarian meal that she had indicated as her preference for the booking. The space between rows of seats was not large enough to open up a laptop and work. By the time the cabin attendant arrived with the tray of sliced fruit that had been finally located, Brennan was in fine fettle and fixing to tear someone a new one. Making her way through the slices of melon and moving on to the slightly tart strawberries, she found herself wanting to take her frustrations out on someone, but Hacker wasn't on the flight, so she considered phoning him to complain about the crappy accommodation they'd been given in Chicago instead. She turned her head to tell Booth her idea and he almost inhaled a mouthful of the slop that this airline called coffee.

Fortunately, their flight was a direct one, so by the time breakfast was over, it was time to prepare for the descent into Chicago. Brennan would have preferred to be dropped off at the M.E.'s office to get an early start on the remains as soon as they had picked up their hire car, but they had been _'requested' _(which was FBI-speak for ordered) to meet at the field office. Booth grumbled about the _'lil ol' lady car'_ that the rental company had allocated to them. At least this vehicle had a GPS, a guy could take a wrong turn in this city and end up in North Dakota.

.

* * *

They were greeted at the field office by none other than Payton Perotta, who had been allocated Special Agent in Charge of Operation Redemption activity in Chicago.

"Well, I'm really glad to have the two of you here!" said Perotta by way of greeting, holding out a hand to shake with her old colleagues. "Particularly you, Dr. Brennan. Our team are having problems narrowing down where a lot of these victims hail from, we know that they're from Asian countries, but Asia is a big place and non of the victims had any documentation to give us a place to start."

"Thank you, Agent Perotta," said Brennan.

"Erm, that's Special Agent in Charge Perotta, Bones," Booth said in a loud whisper.

"Oh, you've been promoted!" said Brennan. "Congratulations, I always found your work with me to be above the usual FBI standard. Although Booth has attained his own exceptional standard in my opinion."

.

Perotta had the grace to appear charmed. "Well, my boss broke a hip skiing and they asked me to come up from the New York Organised Crime Section in her stead. It's a great opportunity, but I've got to admit it's a double-edged sword. People complaining about everything from their lousy per diem, to the quality of coffee beans, to bed bugs in their motel rooms...we haven't even gotten down to the tough stuff yet."

"Bed bugs?" asked Brennan. "They are associated with very poor hygiene standards, you should pull over some favours with the local health authorities..." her cell phone ringing interrupted the conversation. She glanced at the Caller ID. "It's Cam, I need to take this."

.

"Hey, no problem, Dr. Brennan," said Perotta, who turned to Booth. "So, I hear the two of you moved on..." she added conspiratorially. "But you've managed to keep working together which proves that I was right about you."

"We spent a few months working on other projects," hedged Booth.

"Yeah," drawled Perotta. "I saw your _'project'_...little blonde thing, war correspondent who caused a ruckus at the Whitehouse Press Corps with her desert rat fashion sense."

"That's none of your business, Perotta!" warned Booth.

Perotta folded her arms and gave Booth a steely stare. "It is if it affects your ability to work with Dr. Brennan, and it is if you have a girlfriend in the press who might want a piece of the journalistic action. This case could be a career-maker for a journalist! You know I have to ask the questions, Booth, so don't give me those outraged eyebrows! If our positions were reversed, you'd damned-well be asking me the same thing and you wouldn't be so polite about it."

"You've got balls, Perotta!" said Booth with a smile. "You'll be a great SAC, I'll support you in any way I can, okay? For the record, the _'desert rat'_ and I went our separate ways a couple of months back. As for me and Bones, the only trouble you'll have from us, is if you try to keep us apart."

"You mean you're a couple?" stammered Perotta, who saw no attempt at denial from Booth. "You'd be hard pressed to find two more different people to throw together into one relationship. How's that going for you?"

"In the right direction, thanks for asking," replied Booth dryly. "And I'll thank you for keeping Bones out the inquisition."

.

Brennan returned. "What inquisition?" she asked, glancing at Perotta who schooled herself to professional neutrality, while Booth raised his eyes heavenward at his bad timing. "Oh, you mean questions about Booth and I being a couple? I'm not worried about that. The FBI is aware of the development and Deputy Director Hacker has indicated that he has no objections, so I fail to see why it should come into question."

Perotta gave a small smile at the ever-forthright Forensic Anthropologist. "Agreed, Dr. Brennan, we have a long few days ahead of us, and a team of forensic specialists standing by to action any recommendations that you may have that will assist our investigation."

Brennan returned a polite smile of approval. "I find myself eager to get started. Dr. Saroyan has called to confirm that all communication links with the Jeffersonian are established, so we should be able to optimise our pooled resources and expertise. Seven months in the wilds of Indonesia was most instructive in the benefits of long distance coordination."

"So it seems, Dr Brennan. Your time spent overseas sounds exciting," said Perotta noting subtle differences in the demeanour of the scientist.

Brennan gave a small pout and a shrug. "There was no excitement whatsoever, it was merely instructive. I have also taken the opportunity to arrange alternative accommodation for us." Brennan gave a grin. "The only bug that I want in my bed is of the Boothy variety."

Perotta laughed out loud. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan, for demonstrating the humor and initiative that twenty-five other agents could not."

"You are welcome," replied Brennan, as Perotta turned to greet more arrivals.

.

"Hey! You just called me a bug!" said Booth.

"I can arrange for you to sleep with Hodgins tonight, if you're going to take my attempt at humour so personally," she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. Clearly, the half empty cup of coffee in her hand was responsible for the evaporation of her earlier griping.

"Funny," said Booth at the empty threat. "So where are we staying?"

Brennan shrugged noncommittally. "I called a discreet place that I know of and managed to secure accommodation at short notice. I've arranged for you to be picked up at seven here at the field office. Dinner is at eight, we'll get room service, so dress is casual," she said with a wink.

.

Perotta announced to the room that all forensic personnel should make their way down to the bus waiting in the motor pool.

He leaned in on the premise of saying goodbye. "That sounds...like fun," he murmured in her ear.

She slipped an arm around his waist under his suit jacket so they stood in a half-embrace. "That sounds like a challenge...Agent Booth, care to make dress optional?" she said pressing her lips to his jaw next to his ear.

"I was gonna give you the last word there, Bones, but if you're calling in the option, I'm going to have to insist on taking care your undressing personally," he said receiving a low chuckle in response. "Just how much is this discreet little place costing you anyhow?"

"Less than the rate that 1800-CONFESS would charge," she suggested irreverently.

"I'll be going to confession at lunch," he decided. "Between you and pie, I'm clearly going to Hell."

"Good. You may need to confess this...," she said pulling him in for a kiss that curled his toes and attracted whoops and scattered applause from a couple of dozen federal employees. Perotta shook her head with her smile.

.

Booth considered that public discretion was probably going to be as optional as their clothing in private from here on in. As he watched Brennan's retreating back, he considered that he'd set the standard on Public Displays of Affection with Hannah, who would lock lips with him anywhere, no matter who was around. Bones wouldn't settle for anything less and could well be bucking for a higher PDA rating on the basis of that farewell kiss.

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* * *

Booth did make it to confession at lunchtime. The priest was a pragmatic man of the cloth with strong Irish roots; along with the usual penance list, the priest suggested that while Booth's commitment to redemption was commendable, he should back off on the Puritanism a little; because on balance experiencing joy was equally instructive to a soul on the path of righteousness.

.

At seven p.m. Standing next to his bags on the sidewalk in the cold breeze that whipped up the street, a luxury vehicle pulled up alongside him...a Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, the electric window wound down to reveal a chauffeur at the wheel of the right-hand drive piece of British motoring history.

Booth badged the chauffeur. "Are you lost pal? Because this is the FBI, I think the British Embassy is a couple of blocks over."

The chauffeur gave a polite smile as he exitied the vehicle. "No, Sir, I'm not lost. This vehicle is equipped with GPS. I was simply going to offer to assist you with your bags."

"Bones!" growled Booth, wondering what she had cooked up in her evil genius mind.

"Your baggage has bones in them, Sir?" asked the chauffeur, who had popped the trunk and frozen with the first two bags in his hands.

"Nah. They're just regular bags. Never mind," said Booth.

.

* * *

A mere six minutes later, they were pulling into the Ritz-_freaking_-Carlton. Even in his $1500 suit, Booth felt underdressed. The rear door of the vehicle was opened and a stocky man in a hotel uniform introduced himself as Samuel, his _'personal assistant'_ for the duration of his stay. Booth mutely shook the man's hand and followed him through the lobby to an alcove containing a private elevator. They stepped into the car and Booth finally found his voice.

.

"So this suite is something special, right?" he asked Samuel.

"Yes, Sir," replied Samuel. "The Presidential Suite is 2900 square feet of opulence overlooking Lake Michigan. Dr. Brennan has arranged for your dinner to be served in your suite this evening, but we would be delighted to arrange a meal in any one of our fine dining establishments during your stay."

Booth stood stunned. Samuel had lost him at 2900 square feet.

The doors of the elevator opened and Samuel stood politely holding the button down that would keep the doors from closing automatically. "I'll leave you here, Sir. Dr. Brennan asked that she show you around."

Booth fumbled out his wallet and peeled off a twenty, pressing into the palm of his 'personal-_frickkin_-assistant!' Stepping out into the suite, his jaw dropped at the ridiculous space. He could see a fully equipped media room and a baby grand piano. There was a spiral staircase for Christ's sake.

.

"Bones? Where the Hell are you?" he said to the the apparently empty suite.

"I'm up here...waiting for you," she replied, leaning over the balcony.

"I'm not sure if I want to kiss you, or kill you right now," he said looking up at her smiling face.

"I'm hoping that you decide against killing me, because I think losing the deposit on this suite could be very expensive," she quipped, before her head disappeared. "This suite has two bedrooms if you're that unhappy," she added with a laugh.

Booth loosened his tie and jogged up the spiral staircase. "Shotgun on the biggest bedroom," he called out.

.

He found her backed up against a set of double doors that clearly led to a bedroom, wearing a smile that he intended to kiss off in short order.

"Open the door, you've got to get dressed for dinner," he said, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he heard the door click and swing open as she backed into a room out a classic fifties movie.

"I've always wanted to stay here," she said conversationally. "But it always seemed a little over the top for one person. I'm going to enjoy sharing this with you Booth."

"You have no idea how much..." he said as she backed up to the edge of the king sized bed. "How long until dinner?" he asked unbuttoning her shirt.

"We just call Samuel with fifteen minutes notice, so no pressure," she said, uncoupling the Cocky belt buckle.

.

Items of clothing were discarded in unruly piles between unruly kisses until they were stood in just underwear.

"You're wearing more than me," he commented using a finger to push a bra strap off her shoulder.

"Not true," she replied running her hands down his abdominals and tugging at the waistband of his boxers. "You are wearing two stripy socks."

"Touché," he said.

"I don't care about your socks," she said, employing a leg sweep to deposit him on the bed.

"Ow! My back..." complained Booth watching her eyes widen with shock as she clambered on the bed beside him.

"I'm sorry, I..." she got out before she was caught in an iron grip and flipped, finding herself pinned under the man who was going to turn her into a pile of screaming lady-goo, without removing another scrap of clothing.

.

"You want this?" he asked. "Because it's not about sex..."

"I know," she replied, literally and figuratively thrown off balance. "I'm trying to express my desire for you, to share something that is an extension, some sort of natural progression of...us. I don't know if I'll fail, or if I'll succeed... The only thing that matters is that I try. We have to move forward, Booth. If this is really love, I have to try."

.

He propped himself up on his elbows, and she wriggled under his pelvis gasping as she almost came apart at the friction. "Temperance. You think too hard. Relax, you understand, I know you do and I love you for that. Just be you, okay?"

"You're calling _'Uncle'_? Now?" she said, wondering what the Hell that meant, almost in tears.

He laughed, the friction between them causing her to yell his name and swat at his chest as she tried not to laugh. Then she laughed anyway, as his own suppressed groan let her know that despite the sobering admissions, he was as close as she was.

.

"I was just hoping that this whole dry humping in the Presidential Suite at the Ritz-Carlton could be one of those things that is just ours?" he asked with a smirk.

"If you give me an orgasm in the next two minutes, I'll call the Tribune and cancel the full page ad," she said.

"You've got a smart mouth, Temperance Brennan, I'm going to enjoy hearing you scream my name," he said aggressively, moving down to kiss it before moving down further to maneuver around the bra she was still wearing.

"You have no...idea how smart my mouth is...yet..." she ground out, knowing that she was going to be incoherent within seconds of him returning to his previous position, and deliberately goading him to achieve that end.

.

It worked. As many well planned strategies do. As one, they took the next step.

* * *

I'm going to have a cold glass of water now, feel free to join me, or throw yourself into a snowdrift if it's applicable LOL! As always, it will be great to hear your thoughts :D


	8. Light My Fire

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 8 - Light My Fire**

.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'Light My Fire', by The Doors.

**A/N: You may be asking yourself, **_**'I wonder if Booth and Brennan will actually get any real work done?**_**', or if yours truly will just let this story spiral down into a loosely linked series of smutty vignettes. Looking at the song list, I did wonder the same thing myself and even my sixteen year old opened my planner and made comments like, "this one is going to be a smutfest" - life is fun with another fanfic writer in the house...LOL! I can assure you, there is a plot line...some chapters will be more serious, but with the rapid update schedule, there should be something for all tastes.**

* * *

_Tuesday, March 15th 2011 - Chicago, Illinois (6th Day of Lent)_

Seeley Booth emerged from the bathroom that would easily fit both bedrooms and the bathroom from his apartment into the same floor space. Bones had considered this place an excellent choice to honour and celebrate their decision to finally move forward, even though they still had a long way to go. He tucked the end of the white towel around his waist and went in search of the woman that he was learning so much about, despite already knowing her so well. Last night had been an exploration that they had both enjoyed immensely, despite managing to avoid going _'all the way'_ they had hung around third-base, a heck of a lot. They had both shown each other a thing or two. Booth had proven that he was not a prude around his lover, nor was he a plain vanilla man. Brennan had demonstrated that she was not only going to prove to be a very confident and experienced lover, but that a mastery of anatomy and physiology had stacked her deck in favour of inventiveness.

Third frigging base, and they had still managed to blow each other's minds. It made his boastful home run under a fig tree story seem crass in comparison. Booth pondered the failure of his relationship with Hannah; they'd gone from a glance across a room to sex before you could say _'fire at will'_, it had been about physical release, something that he'd scoffed at Bones for doing for years. It wasn't true love. It wasn't intimacy. It was just sex. He walked over to the balcony and saw Bones sat on the lower level with her legs folded up underneath her on a couch. She was chatting away on the phone, in Chinese, her coffee going cold as she focused intently on the conversation, which Booth knew was about the case.

She glanced up, noticing his presence and flashed him what Booth was calling one of her intimate smiles. He struck a muscle man pose, which was a little unfair, because she was working; but she smiled more widely, and mouthed the words _'take it off'_ in reference to his towel, then realized that she had just missed something in her conversation. The tone of her voice clearly indicated her apology to the person that she was speaking with. Booth removed the white fluffy towel and turned around to wiggle his ass in a parody of a male stripper.

Brennan dissolved into laughter, before stammering a few Chinese words around her mirth, then switching to English. "Sorry, I don't know the Cantonese term for _'male stripper'_...no, I will not switch to a Skype call!" she laughed heartily at whatever the person on the other end of the call had to say. "I'll look forward to your translated reference files, they should be very helpful to the investigation...okay, thanks!"

Brennan tried to look unimpressed, but her lips twitched with a smile. "Breakfast is here," she said.

"No, breakfast is up here," asserted Booth from the balcony, the towel now slung loosely around his hips.

"You're hungry. Get down here," she demanded. "I'm hungry...for food," she added as she saw his gaze attempting to remove her robe. Smiling as he disappeared back into the bedroom.

Wearing only socks, a white wife-beater and suit pants, he arrived in the dining room of the suite that overlooked the Chicago skyline out to Lake Michigan. Brennan had poured herself a fresh coffee and was stood at the twenty-fifth floor window at the view.

.

"Whatcha thinkin' bout, Bones?" he drawled, as he poured himself a juice.

She gave a wistful sigh from her position at the window. Booth directed a sharp look in her direction; Bones didn't do the whole wistful sigh thing. He approached cautiously. It was the cold light of day and he supposed that she would be processing and cataloguing what had passed between them...in fact, there was no supposing, he was certain of it.

He stood next to her and took a swig of his juice. "This is one awesome view..." he said casually.

"I was thinking about the case...but then I was thinking about...us," she said, adding quietly "The view is spectacular."

"Something you want to share?" he asked. "Seeing as I'm part of us..."

"Intimacy...it's like a naked flame. I'm afraid of being burned..." she said, covering her emotional hiccough by bringing her coffee cup to her lips.

"Everyone is afraid of that. It's the human condition. We throw ourselves close to the fire, to get warm and be comforted, but we all get burned. Over and over..." he said, taking her hand. "C'mon, we can eat and talk. It'll be like the Diner, Hollywood style."

.

She laughed, taking a seat at the table and selecting a plate full of fruit and a bowl of granola, then adding a large dollop of yoghurt to the bowl as an afterthought.

"You're gonna have people asking you probing questions if you keep eating serves like that, Bones," he said with a grin.

"What people?" she said indignantly. "I have a healthy appetite!"

"Fine," he replied. "But be prepared for your colleagues to start asking if you're pregnant. After your _'enthusiastic'_ goodbye at the field office yesterday, people start putting together things like that and your _'healthy'_ appetite and speculate. Before you know it, two plus two equals a crock of shit."

"Well it would be, in the vernacular, a _'crock of shit'_, because we haven't even _'had'_ sexual intercourse...and thanks to you, my historical reputation for seeking consensual release with like-minded partners is in tatters. Do you even know how long it is since I've had sexual intercourse?" she ranted.

Booth almost sprayed scrambled eggs over the tasteful table arrangement. "What we did last night wasn't sex?"

She rolled her eyes at him, then started to look concerned. "No. You made love to me and I did my utmost to reciprocate. Please tell me you can tell the difference? Because I want to know where I'm going wrong. This is what I'm trying to tell you about intimacy, about my fear. I want to throw myself into your fire and burn to ashes...when I'm with you, I _want_ to be a screaming pile of vulnerable lady goo...more than anything. What have you done to me?...What have _'I' _done to me?"

.

Booth had completely forgotten about his breakfast, which was a pretty mean feat, considering the dominance that the gut of Seeley Booth held over his existence. His knife and fork clattered onto the fine china and he pushed back his chair, throwing his napkin over the plate. He stood and removed the fork from her hand that had crushed a blueberry to pulpy indigo remains on the pristine linen tablecloth. Taking her hand she stood on autopilot in the backwash of her outburst and permitted herself to be led to the darkened media room where the stimulus was reduced and the space was smaller. Booth closed the sliding door, leaving her stood on the shaggy rug in front of the giant TV screen that he would customarily genuflect to.

.

"I'm going to give you some facts, because I know how much you like them...okay?" he said calmly, even though he was utterly crapping himself that Bones might run from him.

A short hysterical laugh burst from her, completely devoid of humour.

"You and me...have a chance to be amazing together," he began slowly. "But we've come here by very different paths. I can't expect you to put aside your past hurts and regrets any more than you could ask that of me. Last night was intense...you want to throw yourself on my fire? I wanna throw myself into your volcano and evaporate!"

She finally met his stare and smiled. "I'm like Iceland," she said.

"Right..." he said, knowing that expression meant something, but finding himself unable to make the connection. "When you want to do that with another person, when you can't walk away, when it scares the crap out of you...you're in love. That's all it is..." he said reassuringly and gathered her in for a classic guy hug.

"These never were guy hugs, were they?" she said into his neck.

"You got me..." he said giving her ass a gentle squeeze.

"That never happened before..." she commented. "It would have been a bit of a giveaway."

"Y'know, it's amazing how you bust out with things that just knock me over, then _wham_, you're back in control again. How do you do that?" he asked.

"I have the ability to rapidly re-assert control over my emotions," she replied calmly surfing her roiling emotions. "I use it a lot around you..."

.

* * *

Brennan had requested to take forensics team back out to a docklands site where three sets of remains had been found. The diagrams and photos from the scene and particulates on the bones suggested that they had been moved. Perotta had whipped the FBI team into action and at the end of the day, Booth showed up with a group of local agents to find out what the squints had come up with. Perotta gave a sharp whistle and called everyone to attention at seven p.m.

"Let's see what we have to add after the efforts today. Dr. Brennan?" she indicated that attention should be given to the serious scientist in the dark blue coveralls.

Brennan stood and turned to face the waiting group of grim and grumpy law enforcement professionals. "Our findings here today have raised more questions than having providing any answers to the unknown variables in this case. Examination of particulates on the bones confirm that the three victims were not killed here. Evidence of nutritional and mineral deficiencies suggest that the victims may have been dumped here after spending time decomposing, in either the hold of a ship, or in a shipping container. Following the known activities of this criminal syndicate, it is possible that the three victims were simply dumped here, like garbage, while the live cargo of smuggled people were transported away in shipping containers, which is supported by the physical evidence collected here previously."

Grumbling at the complications arose from those gathered. "There's more." called Brennan over the conversations. Silence fell obediently. "A single piece of bony evidence, previously believed to be a spurious finding has been analysed overnight by the Jeffersonian. The bone was the scapula of an infant, probably newborn. The body had been burned, which explains the original difficulties in identifying the bone. The forensics team spent most of today sifting through a disused kiln, where no less than fifty bone samples have been recovered to date. The number of victims, their ethnicity and cause of death are yet to be determined. The presence of fragments of Hell Money in the ash outside the kiln door suggest that these victims were either Chinese, or burned here by people who traditionally use Hell Money in their burial rites. The bones appear from preliminary examination, to be those of at least six victims, all children."

Muttering and curses came from the group.

Perotta called for silence."The evidence is being sent to both state labs and the Jeffersonian for analysis. In the meantime, I want efforts to focus on the child smuggling rings, illegal adoption agencies and other unsavory leads. You know what to do. Briefing at midday tomorrow. Thank you Dr. Brennan, we'll take care of the scene from here. Let's move people!"

.

Brennan managed a few words of farewell and stumbled wearily to where Booth was waiting. "Let's get you into a hot bath, get you some food then I'll put you to bed," he suggested

"Will you join me?" she asked.

"For which part," he asked, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

"All of them," she replied.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so only a little Nekkid Booth...will you ever forgive me?**


	9. You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 9 - You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin', by the Righteous Brothers.

**A/N: Could this song possibly refer to one of our beloved dynamic duo? Why, yes! It can...but not the way you might think. This chapter is a little longer and a bit of closure for Booth (and some fun for the rest of us)...enjoy!**

**.**

* * *

_Wednesday, March 16__th__ 2011 – Chicago, Illinois (7__th__ Day of Lent)_

By mid morning, Brennan was getting a tension headache from looking between screens showing cross-sections, magnifications and X-rays of bones. There were dozens and dozens of samples, all of them in some stage of being processed at the Jeffersonian, or here at the State facilities. After some initial turf warfare, which Cam stepped in to handle using her _'Administrator with Attitude'_ approach _(Patent Pending)_, all parties picked up the pace and started working together. Subsequently, Brennan's Smartphone had been buzzing and pinging with results, faster than a poll on a Justin Bieber fan site, from the moment she had awoken.

.

Booth had joined Perotta, with the FBI and other agency members on the task force in a local sweep of known and suspected illegal adoption and smuggling rings, using a list that had been drawn up by a group who had worked through the night. Booth had made a call to Samuel, his personal-_freaking_-assistant, to arrange for dinner in the hotel restaurant for that evening. It would be a late meal, judging by the volume of work in progress, but Perotta was being insistent on limiting work hours to a maximum of twelve hours per day, arranging for handovers to occur morning and evening. A night team kept the pile of loose ends tidy and worked on obtaining warrants, filing reports and preparing briefings for the multitude of agencies to keep them all in the loop. Dealing with potential suspects that may have a questionable immigration status and little or no skill in the English language, also meant that immigration officials had to be briefed and that anyone who could speak Cantonese or Mandarin was going to be put to work. Hell, anyone who knew their way around a Chinese take-out menu was at risk of being drafted.

.

* * *

The lunchtime briefing was organised chaos, but Perotta had arranged plenty of food and once the attending task force teams were sat in the auditorium filling their faces, she had a quiet captive audience. It was a sneaky strategy that generally worked pretty well with groups of Kindergarten kids too. The session ran strictly to one hour, was down to business, and teams were allocated to work on the key priorities. There was a special priority that Perotta had in mind for Booth and Brennan, she called them over after the briefing and they congregated near the lectern at the front of the auditorium.

Perotta eyed Booth and Brennan. "A flag was raised overnight on a couple who recently adopted a child from China. They travelled there to see the child in what they were told was an orphanage and signed an agreement to adopt a baby girl. But when they returned to the New York based agency three weeks later to arrange the handover, they were told that the child had died. They were devastated, of course, but were offered the opportunity to adopt another child, which they took. When they were questioned this morning, they brought in their paperwork and photos of the baby that had reportedly died. I'm hoping that the two of you can take a look at this."

.

Brennan started to protest. "We have literally hundreds of bone fragments being processed, as we speak. I may be needed at the lab."

Perotta raised a hand. "I appreciate your attention to the details, Dr. Brennan, but we have a small army of technical staff who are more than competent to keep your schedule on track. Plus Dr. Saroyan is keeping folks in line. I want you to have a look at this case, because my gut tells me there's a lead here, one that only you can find."

"Is your gut as good as Booth's?" asked Brennan.

"Better," replied Perotta with a smile. "Because mine looks good in a dress..."

Booth gave a shake of his head. "I'll take your word for it, Perotta."

.

"One more thing...Booth?" said Perotta.

"Yeah?" asked Booth.

"Your ex is in town. My source says she knows you're here. I just wanted to give you the heads up and a warning that if she pokes her nose near my task-force clubhouse, I'll take action first and ask questions later. Are we understood?" asked Perotta with a brow raised.

"Sure," replied Booth. "Not that I'm planning on running into her."

"It's not your plans that I'm worried about..." replied Perotta dryly, as she turned to speak with another task-force member who was waiting patiently a few feet away.

.

Brennan turned to Booth, she had to ask. "Do you want to see Hannah?"

"No. Do you?" he asked wryly.

"Not at all. But it is likely that she wants to see you. I can't raise an objection to you speaking to someone who you were recently in a relationship with," she rationalised.

"Actually, Bones, you can. I'm sleeping in your bed, so you can play the jealousy card. People kind of expect that," he explained.

"I don't do jealousy," she replied candidly. "It's an irrational and superfluous emotion."

"What if she comes by and doesn't take _'No'_ for an answer?" asked Booth.

"The situation is hypothetical Booth...but if you are seeking my hypothetical advice, I would suggest setting Perotta on her," said Brennan.

.

Booth planted a kiss on her cheek and laughed.

"What?" asked Brennan, with a hint of a grin.

"You're incredibly hot when you're being mercenary," he said.

"I'm just considering my own welfare. My knuckles are only just healing from punching Hacker in the schnoz," she said, holding up the slightly swollen right hand in evidence.

Booth caught her hand and kissed the knuckles. "I am so buying you knuckle-dusters for your Birthday."

"Oh, God, you're proposing?" asked Brennan with a laugh. "You knew my soft spot, all along!"

Booth placed an arm around her shoulder and they headed out of the auditorium. "Your soft spots are heading for a spanking, Dr. Brennan. C'mon, let's look over this case and interview the parents of this baby."

.

* * *

The parents of the four month-old baby girl we nervously waiting with their restless child. Booth wanted to ask a couple of further questions and show the couple some mug shots of known illegal adoption peeps and their associates. The couple were Chinese-American professionals, who had legally adopted as far as they were aware.

The baby was tired and unsettled in the strange environment and Brennan offered to pick up the child to allow the anxious parents to concentrate on looking closely at the photos on the laptop screen.

Brennan began a low volume conversation with the baby, who was grizzling around her pacifier. Even _'dancing phalanges'_ couldn't raise a smile with the child.

The mother looked over at Brennan. "We only speak Cantonese to Lily at the moment. She will be unlikely to respond to your English."

Brennan gave a shrug. "I don't believe that it matters what language is being used when speaking to a pre-verbal infant, but I can appreciate that the linguistic rhythm and cadence may be more soothing if she is accustomed to Cantonese." The jaws of the parents dropped when the Anthropologist began speaking soothing words to the baby in Cantonese. Booth smiled and mouthed _'show off'_ to Brennan when she glanced his way.

In addition to handing over the photos of their trip to China, they also provided a lock of hair from the baby that they were originally to have adopted. Brennan didn't believe that any DNA evidence would be forthcoming, as the hair had been cut from the infant, but spectrographic analysis of the hair might provide insight into the environment that the infant had been raised in, particularly if the orphanage that the couple had visited was a sham.

.

Thirty pages of mug-shots later, the couple identified a woman.

"That is Martha!" said the father of the adopted baby.

"Yes, it's her," said his wife."Martha...Stewart, from the legal department of the adoption agency in New York. She's much younger in this photo, but it is her."

Booth looked at the couple incredulously. "Martha Stewart? That was the name she gave you?"

"Why is that an issue?" asked the husband, glancing between Booth and Brennan. "Is Martha Stewart some sort of big time criminal, or something?"

"Don't look at me," said Brennan, who was still holding the now sleeping baby. "I have absolutely no idea who Martha Stewart is."

"Well, according to this mug-shot this is Mary Stewart. Probably no relation," said Booth, getting three blank looks and one cute snuffling snore from those gathered in the room with him. "Man, nobody watches TV anymore!" he lamented.

"Thank you for your cooperation, we'll return your photos when we can," said Booth ending the interview. "Bones, give the nice people back their baby. You don't get to keep it." The parents looked at Brennan, slightly concerned.

Brennan gave a smirk in Booth's direction before handing back the baby, making a conspiratorial comment to the couple. "Don't be concerned. Agent Booth would simply prefer it if my babies were his."

The couple were now totally confused and silently took their adopted daughter, trying not to appear to be running for the elevators.

"Way to go, freaking out the witnesses there, Bones," said Booth casually. Too casually.

"You started it," she retorted.

"...and we should probably finish it. Not really the time or the place," suggested Booth.

"I agree," said Brennan, picking up her bag. "I need to get this evidence to the lab. I'll meet you and the others for drinks at the hotel bar, say eight p.m.?"

"Sounds good, I want to meet the guy who's talked Perotta into getting married. Never thought I'd see the day...will you wear something special?" he asked, closing in for a farewell kiss.

She grabbed him by the tie and pulled him in for one of her steamy goodbye kisses. Booth really was going to have to talk to her about the ratings on their Public Displays of Affection; once sufficient circulation had returned to his brain.

"You will have to wait and see," she said as she straightened his tie again before leaving the room; because she actually hadn't decided what to wear. Samuel would no doubt help her. Making her way down to the lobby of the FBI field office, she made a few calls.

.

* * *

Hannah Burley, back Stateside for a couple of well earned weeks of rest, had used her journalistic talents _(but none of her journalistic integrity)_ to attempt to find out where Seeley was staying. But she'd come up empty, which was unusual in this town. But she'd hit pay-dirt, when one of the Research Assistants at the Chicago newsroom found his reservation for dinner at _'deca' _over in Water Tower Plaza. She could have called Seeley, but he'd always enjoyed her spontaneity in the past, and she hoped that her surprising him tonight would be an icebreaker for the conversation that she wanted to have with him. She missed him. Even with the excitement of her old life back at the pointy end of journalism, with her tangled and sparky relationship to keep her occupied, she missed Seeley. The fig trees were dropping their fruit in Kabul, the sweet cloying smell of their fermenting decay as they lay under the trees reminded her daily of _Sweet, Sweet, Seeley_.

.

Wearing a sheer lace-edged chemise, over what was essentially a fancy tank top, with her best pair of low cut jeans, Hannah sat nursing a glass of house wine and waiting for Seeley to arrive. At 7:45 he entered the bar wearing a dark open-necked shirt and tailored pants. He took a seat on one of the couches which were arranged under the glassed roof and walls of the complex and breathed a heavy sigh. An attendant came to take his order and approached the bar. When the tall glass of beer was placed on the tray, Hannah trailed behind the attendant, following him over to where Seeley was sitting alone. Poor baby.

Booth's beer arrived mercifully fast. He'd finished up work around five, gone to confession, hit the hotel gym for an hour, and showered, before heading downstairs for a drink. Samuel, personal-_freaking_-assistant extraordinaire, had informed him that Dr. Brennan was being picked up by the Rolls Royce limo service that came included with the room tariff and would be arriving on schedule at eight p.m. Booth was unaware that she had also finished around five, attended an appointment with her publisher to sign-off another book deal, then went to see a local icon of fashion to be dressed, plucked and fluffed for a celebratory dinner. Samuel had helped to arrange things at the hotel.

Taking a sip of the cold malty brew, Booth gave a satisfied smack of his lips. He almost jumped out of his skin when someone small and blonde sat down beside him.

.

"Jesus. Peyton, I know you like to keep your guys on their toes, but...Hannah?" He'd thought that it was Perotta stirring him up as he relaxed over a beer. Well, it seemed that relaxation was off the cards.

Hannah gave a smile and pecked his cheek affectionately, before pointing up through the glass roof at the night sky. "I'll bet you never expected to be sitting next to me under the stars again, did you?"

"What the fuck are you doing here, Hannah?" he said in a low growl.

"Coming to say hello," she said with a nervous giggle.

"Hello. Goodbye. Happy now?" said Booth. "I'm meeting someone, and for your sake, I'd rather that you weren't here when she arrives."

"You're worried about me meeting your new woman?...Peyton, you said her name was? Very pretty...Is she blonde like me?" asked Hannah attempting to be lighthearted and civil, but secretly gutted that Seeley had moved on.

Booth was getting slightly exasperated and glanced at his watch. "Yes, she's blonde. Yes, she's pretty. Yes, her name is Peyton...and not that it's any of your business, she is NOT my woman and she is NOT going to be pleased to see you here, okay?"

Hannah took a sip of her wine and leaned toward Booth alluringly. "You do love to surround yourself with strong women, don't you Seeley? Has she met Temperance yet?"

Booth rolled his eyes. "Fine, if you wanna stick around, it's your funeral! Bones and Perotta go way back, and for your information, Perotta has balls of steel," he told Hannah, standing in an attempt to make her leave; trying to warn his ex-girlfriend that things were going to get ugly without his having to mention the task-force.

.

Hannah sprawled back over the couch, twiddling with the stem of her wine glass in an attempt to appear the picture of sophistication; albeit one crudely scrawled on the back of a toilet door in lipstick. "Oh, she must have Temperance's stamp of approval then...tell me, did Temperance get herself a boyfriend yet? Because the last time we spoke, that woman seriously needed to get laid."

Booth took a frustrated gulp of his beer in an attempt to calm himself, otherwise he would have either yelled at Hannah or thrown his beer over her.

He calmly put his glass on the table behind him and turned fuming toward Hannah. "Don't. Ever. Say anything like that about Bones. Ever!"

.

"To be fair, Booth. The last time we spoke; it was an accurate assessment. I'm not offended in the least, so you shouldn't be," said Brennan calmly, having observed Booth jump up from angrily from the couch like his pants were on fire and then visibly restraining himself as she approached.

"Good old, Temperance. The voice of rationality and reason. You're looking gorgeous by the way," drawled Hannah.

"Thank you," replied Brennan evenly, putting a hand on Booth's shoulder, because she could see him coiled with anger, ready to explode. "After a few drinks with Peyton and her boyfriend, I intend to celebrate a special event over dinner, so I dressed for the occasion."

"What special event?" asked Booth puzzled. "You look fantastic by the way. Your boyfriend is gonna rip that dress off you later..." he added cheekily. Brennan looked like she'd stepped of the cover of Vogue.

"Oh, I'm counting on that," said Brennan, slipping her hand down to pinch Booth non-too gently on the ass _(she'd buy him a drink later)_. "I just got the advance on my new book," she said in a sing-song voice, her eyes lit up with excitement.

"Oh, man..._'another'_ seven figure advance? What number does this one start with?" groaned Booth melodramatically.

"Another prime number," replied Brennan coyly.

"Aww, c'mon...gimme a clue, Bones," he said in a wheedling tone, Hannah forgotten. She watched the exchange with interest, a smile of amusement on her face. Apparently some things never changed.

"I suppose I could whisper it to you..." said Brennan making a show of capitulating by rolling her eyes at Hannah, who giggled, then frowned a little as Temperance placed one hand on the jaw of her partner to tilt his head so she could whisper in what could only be called _'seductively'_ against the shell of his ear.

"Bones!" complained Booth. "You _'know'_ I don't speak Chinese!" Brennan had told him the amount in Cantonese.

.

"Please, Booth. Don't tell me this is who I think it is?" said Perotta as she arrived to find Booth and Brennan stood poised to start making out at any moment, with the blonde reporter sat spectating.

Hannah jumped to her feet. "Hi, I'm Hannah Burley. You must be Peyton. Booth wasn't wrong when he said you were pretty. Just let me know if you need to unleash those balls of steel and I'll be sure to take cover," she said sweetly, extending her hand.

.

Perotta raised her eyebrows and shot Booth both a smile and an evil glare for his troubles. "Ms. Burley. Would you mind if we had a couple of words privately? Booth, Dr. Brennan, I'll meet you at the bar. Mark said the first bottle of Cristal is on him. He'll be in when he's finished giving the Valet the third degree over care of his Lamborghini."

"Who's Mark?" asked Hannah.

"None of your business, Honey!" snapped Perotta.

"I beg your pardon, Peyton?" Hannah asked, aghast.

Perotta placed a hand on her hip and assumed a stance that was, according to FBI legend, able to convince testicles to retreat up inguinal canals in sheer terror. "That's _Special Agent in Charge Perotta,_ to you. Look, I'm here to celebrate that my fiancé loves me more than his Lamborghini, so print that if it makes you feel better. Now listen to me. Stay away from me, my task force and my people, especially Special Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan. I have a job to do to protect my country. No desert rat reporter is going to get in the way of our team bringing a load of lowlife scumbags to justice. Now are you leaving, or do I need to draw you a picture?"

Hannah knew that she wouldn't be able to do so much as place a want ad on US soil with this woman on her back. Afghanistan, with its' fire-fights and fig trees suddenly became a much more attractive place. She glanced over at Seeley and Temperance at the bar, saluting each other with flutes of Cristal Champagne. Turning to leave, she knew precisely who was going to be ripping off Temperance Brennan's dress tonight.

.

* * *

A/N: My goodness, I had fun writing this...was I too mean?


	10. River Deep, Mountain High

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 10 - River Deep, Mountain High**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'River Deep, Mountain High', by Ike and Tina Turner.

**A/N: I'm still writing this thing...amazing. Apologies if this is light on the case, please direct all complaints about being my being distracted to a PWP chapter to NatesMama. This chapter is hanging onto it's T rating by the skin of Booth's **** - you have been warned.**

* * *

_Thursday, March 17th 2011 - Chicago, Illinois. Feast of Saint Patrick or "St. Paddy's Day" (8th Day of Lent)_

"Happy Saint Paddy's Day to yer, Bones!" exclaimed a voice which sounded suspiciously like the love-child of Seeley Booth and a Leprechaun.

"Ugh! Booth, make it stop...shoot it," moaned Brennan, sprawled like a rag-doll over a pile of pillows on her stomach. "I'll do anything..."

A slightly more Boothy voice, still tinged with a Southern Irish lilt murmured next her ear. "Anyt'ing?"

"Provided it doesn't involve, moving, thinking, opening my eyes...or, urgh!...using my head in any way..." replied Brennan in a low voice, trying not to move her mouth too much when she spoke.

.

Booth smiled and rubbed a hand up and down her back. "You overdid the Champagne last night, Bones. Take these magic pills, take a sip of this water, and go back to sleep for an hour, then we'll have a nice greasy breakfast before we go to the field office."

"Fine. Give me the pills, I'll have a shower and drink a quart of coffee," she mumbled, pulling a hand out from under her pillow and holding it out. The pills were placed in her palm and she placed them in her mouth, then allowed Booth to place the straw at her lips, she took a couple of sips and winced as she swallowed.

"Come back to bed," she murmured.

"Geez, bossy when you're hung over much?" laughed Booth.

"Not so loud...please..." winced Brennan. She felt the bed dip beside her and a warm body provided instant relief to her all over ache, soothing her back to sleep.

.

* * *

Booth awoke with a start ninety minutes later. The space next to him on the King-Size bed was empty in the darkened room.

"Crap, _wha-time-isit_?" he grumbled, fumbling for his cell-phone.

"Seven a.m." replied a surprisingly cheery voice from the doorway.

"Bones?" said Booth, puzzled.

"Were you expecting someone else?" she asked.

"You couldn't even open your eyes a couple of hours ago...!" he said in amazement. "Who are you, you gorgeous creature? And what did you do with the Champagne lush that I dozed off with?" he asked.

She gave a dangerous chuckle as she stepped into the dim room, twisting the knob on the dimmer to bring the level of light up to the point that he could see her eyes, dark with focused intent. Seeley Booth was a set of bones, and Bones was clearly planning on jumping them. Angela would be proud. "Modern pharmaceuticals, rehydration with a large bottle of water, a cup of black coffee...Do you remember what you promised me last night over dessert, Booth?"

"I wasn't the one who fell asleep in the elevator last night, so yeah, I remember..." he replied. Her final words before lapsing into a Cristal-induced stupor had been of her intention to break the Laws of Physics with him since the Laws of Nature were no longer an issue. She'd asked if he loved her, if he wanted to prove it...and admitted she'd been the one who wrote the words, who spoke the words at his bedside; the words that had hounded him during his recovery from brain surgery. Then that Iceland comment in the media room, when he'd mentioned throwing himself into her volcano...Bones had been ready on some level since he had agreed, then reneged on the sperm donor thing. She'd given him time to recover and somehow missed yet another moment along the way.

.

She climbed onto the bed and crawled over him, the split in her silk robe revealing a great deal of naked flesh. "Are you going to make me wait?" she asked, her hands pushing up his T-shirt.

"But we have work to..." he began, knowing his words were empty, it was part of the game they played. This was about sex, but it was also about taking that final step away from the crazy carousel they'd been riding for too damned long

Brennan gave a sultry laugh and began nibbling enthusiastically at his abdominals. "No we don't...Not until ten... Perotta just sent a text message saying the night team arranged an early morning raid and made six arrests." She lifted up her head and pinned him with a look that made him freeze, well almost all of him froze; he cursed his betraying manhood for enacting defection plans the moment she had given that laugh.

"Perotta advised us that we should check out from our hotel, and then come directly to the field office, by which time, the suspects should be processed. We'll have to head directly to the airport around five to make our flight back to D.C. I sent her a message to say that you would benefit from an extra couple of hours in bed," she explained.

"Right...not sleeping, I'm guessing," he said, suppressing a surprised grunt as she answered by placing his hips in a vice between her long strong legs and ground down against him in frustration. She said nothing, just gave him that same honest stare that she had given him in the elevator last night, the same one from the SUV on that night of torrential rain and emotions.

He should have known that a skin full of Cristal wouldn't have affected her recall in any way. It was his move. He heard Gordon Gordon Wyatt's voice telling him to grow a set; recalled Stewie Griffin telling him to do the same, and to make a direct deposit while he was at it. Those messages from the Universe over the years had been transmitting for them both. They had shown faith in each other; both had spent some time waiting like faithful puppies for each other when life got in their way. Chances had been thrown out there and swept away into fast flowing rivers. Moments had been crushed by mountains of their own making.

.

He felt her hand gently touch his face. "Booth?" she asked, brushing a tear away from her cheekbone roughly with the back of her other hand. "I'm pushing you...I'm sorry...you need...," she broke off, releasing him and throwing herself back onto the bed with an exasperated noise.

Brennan suddenly found herself pinned underneath him from the waist down, as he rolled after her, his elbows supporting the weight of his upper body. "I'll tell you what I need, Temperance. I need to love you. I need to prove it to you, every day...twice a day if you'll let me...and I don't think I'll ever get tired of it...'cause I got my message too."

.

The ensuing kiss was a dizzying distraction as he fumbled with the loose tie of her robe and she made fast work of his boxer shorts, with the T-shirt being dragged off and tossed away in the space of a couple of short breaths as they wriggled against each other impatiently. The physical heat between them was incredible, as they allowed themselves to pass the barriers that they had put in place over the past week, obliterating lines all the way back to when she'd first brazenly suggested that they could have sex. He groaned into her mouth as he felt the hot wet caress of lips dragging along his sensitive skin and she answered as their passionate stars finally aligned.

His arm slipped under her back, along her waistline, his hand coming to rest in the familiar spot that he had used to guide her along with for years. Her legs wrapped around his waist to provide a little guidance of her own. Breaking the kiss to focus on more important matters, she breathed out to let him in.

"I feel drunk again," she said as he pushed.

"Brain chemistry..." he breathed as she flexed her back and pulled him closer.

"Love," she exhaled as twin burning cores of fire ignited into a single surreal inferno of sensation, allowing herself to ride the trail to Lady goo at a steady trot, delighting in every moment of friction, waiting for the moment when he would lose control and gallop for home, when she could just hang on for dear life. A small but powerful climax gripped her as their pubic bones crushed together and she laughed breathlessly knowing that it was the beginning, not the end. Watching her pupils dilate and then reconstrict with renewed focus; he knew too. Hanging around third base for a few days had shown him that she was capable of control and abandonment at will; citing something squinty about the power of the mind.

.

It took a little longer than either of them expected, both of them putting aside their natural antagonism to extend words, gestures and touches of reassurance; wanting to make this first moment right after all that had gone wrong between them. She told him, ever the feminist, ever the scientist, that she wanted to watch him lose control. Considerate of both her needs, and the screaming build up of jangling tension in his nerve endings, culminating in that sweet humming pressure signaling the point of no return; he let go. His eyes wide open, watching hers until her they were torn away; rolling toward the ceiling as her back arched and her legs clenched and spasmed around him. Their incandescent fires quenched, for the time being, in the deep cool waters of release.

.

* * *

Somehow, they made it through the rest of the day. The evidence of the new addition to the precious list of things that were just theirs was there for others to see, not that anyone was looking. Their glances were a little warmer, their touches lingered a touch longer, their smiles were bordering on _'just kiss me'_, rather than _'just partners'_; particularly after Booth threatened a perp for eyeing the curves of his partner when she stood to leave the interrogation room.

When they left the field office and headed out into the St. Patrick's Day madness as the day ended, heading with their bags to their car, she'd stopped to watch the throng of Irish blooded and Irish wannabes whooping and singing their way down the street. Turning to Booth, she said with a laugh, "Kiss me, I'm Irish!"

"So y'are, Docta Brennan! C'mere and lay those luscious lips on me," replied Booth, in his best Irish accent, which was only marginally better than his singing voice. The passionate clinch of the apparently strait-laced couple in suits caused the drunken revelers to cheer them on.

Brennan broke off the kiss with another laugh. "Come on, let's get out of here before we're mobbed and plied with green beer."

.

* * *

Barely managing to resist the temptation to join the Mile High Club on the flight on the way home, they'd settled for a snooze and some quiet canoodling until they finally reached the sanctuary of the large antique bed at Booth's apartment. Pausing only to rip each other's clothes off, they explored the old and the new between them, as _'just lovers'._

**A/N: Okay...backing away from the smut. Let me know if I should make a New Year's resolution on this...**


	11. Sympathy for the Devil

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 11 - Sympathy for the Devil**

.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'Sympathy for the Devil', by The Rolling Stones.

.

**A/N: Happy New Year everyone! May 2011 bring you everything that you hope for. I was inundated by plot bunnies, so this chapter turned into another monster...oops! But happily, the next couple are already done, so will be following along in short order. **

* * *

_Friday, March 18th 2011, Washington D.C. (9th Day of Lent)_

The forensics platform of the Jeffersonian was a hive of activity; even though it was only 7:00 a.m. Dr. Camille Saroyan was playing Taskmistress to the dozens of squints and FBI techs who had swelled the ranks at the Jeffersonian during the past four days. Workstations were shared, much to the disdain of the home team, and temporary workstations had been set up along the inner corridors of the main lab, making the outer corridors that ran along the walls of the building far too busy to be their usual place for a quiet conversation.

.

Brennan swiped her access card and entered the still restricted central platform, where Cam was handing out schedules and instructions to Jeffersonian staff.

"Mr. Fisher, your mission for today, whether or not you choose to accept it, is to use whatever means necessary to ensure that the batching of bone samples through the electron microscopes and Mass Spectrometers is not subverted by Jeffersonian staff trying to cut short their Friday workload. The order of testing is not decided by number of PhD's _(she eyed Hodgins)_, position on the leader board of the Fantasy Football League _(she eyed Wendell)_, or by those wanting to tally brown-nose points with Dr. Brennan _(she eyed Daisy)_. Any changes to testing schedules, including the insertion of priority samples into the queue, go through me. No exceptions. Are we all clear?" asked Cam.

A jumbled chorus of assent and grumbles met the announcement.

"Okay, people!" announced Cam. "You know the drill. Attention to detail. Communicate...and please, watch the caffeine intake. Yesterday was like coupon day at Starbucks. Regroup for the task-force briefing at midday. Thank you."

The team scattered.

.

"Dr. Brennan. Welcome back!" said Cam.

"Thank you, Dr. Saroyan. It's good to be back. The efforts of the Jeffersonian lab impressed the task-force team in Chicago. I informed them that our efficiency is primarily due to your leadership here," said Brennan with a small smile, as she buttoned up her lab coat.

Cam did a double-take and frowned. "Well, um, thank you, for your support. Can I ask if everything is okay with you? You seem a little, well, off-kilter..."

Brennan continued smiling. "I'm fine. The Chicago trip was very productive; we have several strong leads on the _No Han Han_. I also met with my publisher and got an advance on my new book."

"Wow, you're writing again?" asked Cam.

"Yes," replied Brennan, logging into a workstation and pulling up the list of lab results awaiting her review and verification. "Hence, the large cheque from my publisher. Do you have concerns that my writing will compete with the demands of my work here at the Jeffersonian? Because I managed to produce my other books under identical conditions..."

"I'm well aware of that Dr. Brennan," said Cam dryly. "But when you wrote your previous books, you never seemed to have any problems dressing yourself."

Brennan frowned and turned away from the screen of the computer. "I am dressed in the same kind of clothes that I always wear."

Cam rolled her eyes heavenward. "Specifically, you are wearing obviously mismatched earrings and you've buttoned up your lab coat askew, Dr. Brennan. Is there something wrong?"

Brennan silently unbuttoned her lab coat, removed her earrings and placed them into her pocket. She looked steadily at her concerned colleague, flushing slightly as she recalled the earlier passionate attack that had triggered _'Earringate'_. "Thank you, Cam."

.

"Oh. My. God." breathed Cam. "Finally!"

"What? But I didn't say anything..." said Brennan.

Cam held up a hand. "And I don't want you to! Just try to stay focused when Booth is around, and maybe consider getting a full length mirror in your office. I'll see you at midday."

.

* * *

Two hours later, Hodgins dashed into Brennan's office. "Dr. B! I just finished the preliminary analysis of the lock of hair that you brought back from Chicago. Is this a bad time to run it by you?"

"Not at all Dr. Hodgins. I was just ordering a full length mirror," she replied.

Hodgins cocked his head and narrowed his eyes, then thought better of himself and refrained from asking. "As you predicted in your field notes, there was no DNA on the hair sample, but the analysis of the ionic concentrations of commonly occurring elements were fascinating when compared to the strontium analysis from the juvenile bone fragments."

"There was a match?" asked Brennan.

"There was no match," said Hodgins triumphantly.

"That is in no way fascinating, Dr. Hodgins," said Brennan mildly unamused.

"Ah!" said Hodgins, leaning forward to use the mouse on her desk to remote link to his workstation computer. "It is when you map the strontium reference regions for the bone fragments and the ionic match for the water region from the hair sample, onto a map of mainland China."

.

Brennan looked at the screen and nodded appreciatively. "Now that is fascinating. I'm not sure if it will lead us anywhere, but it supports that the orphanage that the Chang's visited may well have been a front."

"Oh, it does more than support that assumptions...traces of chemicals found on the hair of the baby were of a combination found only in a patented, high-end shampoo from a European cosmetic company. I traced the product and it is very pricey, even by Western standards. A ten ounce bottle of that shampoo costs more than most Chinese families earn in a month."

Brennan smiled at Hodgins and stood to put her lab coat back on. "You should ask Angela to cross reference product sales against the city where the orphanage is located. I'll call Booth."

"Sounds good, I'll go and visit the love of my life...immediately," said Hodgins with a grin. He nodded down at Brennan's feet as he turned to leave. "Nice socks by the way. Are they in homage to, or in competition with Booth?" he left without waiting for a response.

"It's laundry day..." Brennan said to her empty office.

.

* * *

Booth answered his cell phone on the second ring.

"Not even four hours...you are in L.O.V.E., Bones!" crooned Booth down the line.

"Why are you spelling that word out? Is Hacker in the room?" asked Brennan.

"Nope. But Sweets is..." he teased.

"Really?" asked Brennan, in amused disbelief. "I thought that he could spell."

"Nah, just kidding, I'm here by myself. Sweets is probably in therapy himself, seeing as he was complaining that Daisy has been just about living at the Lab all week. It makes a nice change to be getting better sex than my own therapist for once," quipped Booth.

"I'm actually calling you about the case, Booth," said Brennan, trying her level best not to select one of several alternative bantering options that were on the tip of her tongue.

"Right. Sorry, I thought it was a social call," he replied, sounding disappointed.

She gave a laugh at his tone. "You should try to be here for Cam's lunchtime briefing if you can. Hodgins has made some progress with the geographic mapping of the strontium regions from the bones. Angela and I going to be running a query against a population reference dataset that the Chinese government has permitted us to obtain an extract from. The translated reference material arrived this morning."

"Okay, I lost you after _'strontosaurus'_, but I'll be there at twelve. Any chance of lunch afterward?" asked Booth hopefully.

"Perhaps. I'll have to see how my session with Angela goes," she replied. "I'll see you at twelve."

"Okay..." said Booth.

"Okay, what?" she asked. "You usually hang up now."

"Well, I'm usually not so turned on by your voice," he teased.

"Would you prefer it if I sent you text messages or e-mails?" she asked.

"Alright, alright, I'm hanging up!" he grumped. She smiled to herself. Placing her cell phone in her pocket, she made her way to Angela's office. The cell phone power button pushed against one of the mismatched earrings that she had placed in her pocket earlier, the device turned off.

.

* * *

"Hey, Bren! How was Chicago?" asked Angela, flashing a smile as she focused on entering some final variables into her hand-held controller. "The final collation and enhancements to the orphanage photos will be ready in a couple of minutes."

Brennan looked at her friend appraisingly as she worked. "Angela, you should sit with your feet raised. Your ankles have become markedly more oedematous than when I saw you at the Science Fair last Saturday."

"Yeah, I know...it's been a busy week with all the task-force work, after a busy weekend with my Dad and his _'friends'_. But I promise you, I feel just fine. This weekend, I plan to impersonate a beached whale and make Jack wait on me hand and foot," said Angela with a reassuring smile.

"Did he bring you the data from the strontium region map?" asked Brennan.

"He just left, but not before _also_ telling me to sit with my feet up. That's what you get for working with a bunch of scientists, I guess," mused Angela.

"No, Angela. That's _'what you get'_ for working with people who love you. Now I insist that you come and sit down, we can review the images from your couch,...or would you like me to ask Cam for another opinion?" said Brennan with a _'take no prisoners'_ expression, that was spoiled ever so slightly by the twitch of a smile at the corner of one lip.

"Okay, I surrender," said the Artist, trying not to waddle too openly as she approached the couch. Brennan pushed the table toward the couch and gave her friend a look that indicated that she should place her feet up on it.

"My advice is simply common sense, Ange. If our circumstances were reversed, you would be just as insistent that I do the same," said Brennan as she took a seat in a low armchair adjacent to the couch.

Angela gave a sigh and rubbed her baby belly. "I've got to tell you, Bren, I'm seriously hoping this orphanage is a fake. The photos of the cots with those unwanted babies is seriously messing with my Mommy instincts. I've been swinging between demanding that Jack go and rescue all those poor kids and curling up in a corner and crying into a pint of Ben and Jerry's."

"Perhaps you should take some personal time. It must be difficult for you to detach yourself from the emotional aspects of this case," suggested Brennan.

"Oh no, Sweetie. That's where my Texan retribution genes come in handy. I want these evil bastards to pay!" said Angela with surprising vehemence.

Brennan observed her hormonally-challenged friend with interest. "You seem to have many conflicting emotions, but I'm glad that you're resolved to work on finding some answers."

"Having a baby in your belly gives you carte blanche on emotional turmoil, Honey. You should get your new roomie to give you a _'hand'_ with that..." said Angela with a grin. "How did you guys get along anyway? C'mon, spill for a gal who's had to give up 90% of the Karma Sutra in the past six weeks."

The Anthropologist gave a wicked chuckle. "That still leaves you with five or six options..."

"So says the poster girl for celibacy," snorted Angela.

"I got an advance on my new book," said Brennan with a bright smile.

"Really? You're writing again?" said Angela, who then immediately narrowed her eyes. "Hey, just back up a minute there...for at least the last eighteen months, whenever I mention sex, you usually respond with a saint-like lament about how long it is since you got any...then you've bitched that you've had a world-class case of writer's block, which turned into a cosmic-class case when Booth came back with his _'Late Nite Newd Anchor'_..."

"You really shouldn't refer to Hannah like that," said Brennan earnestly. "Booth was in love with her."

"Bren. Seriously?" said Angela with her classic _'bitch, please'_ expression. "The guy was in love with the _'idea'_ with being in love with her. Getting some regular booty was just a bonus. You _know_ who he really loves. Believe me, when it comes to relationships, I've been there, done them all, sometimes even done it twice; meaning I can tell the difference. Clearly, you still can't admit it, so just cut the bullshit, okay?"

Brennan gave a small sigh. "I know who he loves, Ange. I've known for longer than you think."

"Not for my lack of trying to tell you," said Angela with a snort. "The question is when are you going to unshackle yourself from the celibacy train and do something about it?"

"I'm not wearing any shackles..." replied Brennan evenly, and at the dangerously raised eyebrow of her BFF, she added with a smile, "...literally, or metaphorically."

.

Temperance Brennan braced herself for the outpouring of Montenegro-style effusive reaction and was sadly disappointed.

"You finally found love _'and'_ you had sex? With Seeley _'Sex-on-a-stick'_ Booth?" asked Angela aghast. "Are you trying to shock me into an early labour here?"

"You're not experiencing pains are you, Angela?" asked Brennan, half getting out of her seat. "I should call Cam..."

Angela laughed at the shocked expression on her friend's face. "No, Sweetie. I'm not in labour...but if you don't get over here right this minute and give me a hug, then tell me how fantastic it was... I swear I'll stage a false labour with screams that will make Daisy Wick's seem like a whimpering prairie dog."

.

* * *

By the time the midday regroup of the squints and techs occurred, Cam had a satisfied smile on her face. At this rate, the team might be able to leave by six this evening, with all their findings handed back to the task-force for prioritisation and action. A number of task-force teams were teleconferencing in from around the country to summarise the progress for the first week of their efforts. The Jeffersonian presentation was only one part of the program, but it was a significant part, so predictably, Hacker had showed up to take some of the credit.

Brennan stood back from the lights, cameras and the background banners that had been placed to appease all of the agency affiliates, ready for the time when sanctioned sections of information would be released to the press. Operation Redemption was being spun as a wider crack down on organised crime, with the primary target of the _No Han Han_ being kept well under wraps. She was waiting for Booth to arrive; he was running late.

.

The main briefing began, with the reconstruction of the Chinese orphanage. Angela and Brennan had deduced and proven that the orphanage was indeed a front. The location was within a disused industrial area of the city. Angela had run facial enhancement and recognition software against orphanage staff captured on the Chang's cell phone camera.

Cam outlined the two significant findings came from the photographs. The first was that Brennan identified that the facial structure of the baby that had allegedly died before she could be adopted, demonstrated that she was the child of the _'Director'_ of the orphanage. This man was a Catholic priest, known as Father Hwe. When Angela ran the image and estimated height, weight and age of Father Hwe against Interpol records made available from the task-force, they found a match with a dead man; a notorious criminal known as _'Lucifer'_ Ho. He had been wanted for atrocities committed during his early career in a splinter rebel faction; one that had terrorised remote tribes of ethnic minorities, turning their fertile fields into poppy fields and using the heroin to set himself up as drug lord in the late eighties. Ho had apparently ripped off one too many of his criminal rivals before being _'assassinated'_ in 2005...before getting a second chance at a life of crime and depravity, apparently with the _No Han Han_.

.

"This guy is one evil bastard..." said Hodgins, shaking his head.

Angela couldn't have agreed more. "I guess they called him _Lucifer_ for a good reason...and now he's been posing as a Catholic priest, peddling innocent kids!"

"Yeah, and the rest Ange. I know, it's diabolical," said Hodgins running a fond hand over her round belly. "Okay, Cam wants me to run through the strontium analysis results. It's showtime, baby!" He approached the console and prepared to give the task-force his findings.

Hacker had been monitoring the parade of experts bringing together their evidence, generating debate on theories and directions for further investigation. Quintessentially the kiss-ass, he approached Brennan. "Temperance. Good work in Chicago. You've managed to make the D.C. team look like winners, and me by association, of course," he said smoothly.

Brennan kept her arms folded across her chest. She flicked a dismissive glance at him. "Thank you for your feedback, Deputy Director Hacker. I would appreciate it, as a matter of professional courtesy, if you would address me as Dr. Brennan."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan," he responded smoothly. "While we're on the subject of professional courtesy, I thought that I should let you know that there has been a ruckus at the Chicago field office this morning, and you've been named at the centre of it. You should see this," said Hacker, handing her a copy of the National Inquirer.

Brennan raised a brow at the publication. "The National Inquirer? I had no idea that you subscribed..." she said with a wry grin.

"You're incredibly witty, Dr. Brennan, but I suggest that you look at the top of page three. You'll have to admit it looks bad for the FBI," said Hacker condescendingly.

She opened the magazine to find a picture of herself and Mark, Perotta's fiancé, who was captured planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek in the bar of _'deca'_ in Chicago.

"The Paparrazzi took my photograph. I'm a famous author. Mark is a very popular musician. Why is this a problem?" asked Brennan.

Hacker pointed at the paragraph below the headline _'DJ Sparky the latest conquest of Man-eating author?'_ The blatant innuendo continued in the article below, accusing her of corrupting the well-respected DJ who was orignally from the Bible belt, a man known for his strong views on fidelity. A copy of the bar tab for six bottles of Cristal Champagne was used to suggest that she had a serious alcohol problem. Questions were raised on the status of his recently announced engagement, essentially accusing her of being a home-wrecker, citing her previously printed views on traditional relationships. An anonymous source had reported seeing the two of them re-enacting _'page 187'_ from her last book in a private booth on the bar premises.

"That is the most ridiculous piece of journalism that I have ever read. There is not a single shred of fact to support any of those accusations," she said with a laugh. "I will, however, contact my attorney. I imagine that Mark will do the same. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

"You should know that Agent Booth was extremely upset. He was in the middle of a heated discussion with the SAC from Chicago when I left the Hoover. Perhaps he was the one hoping to be corrupted by you?" said Hacker with a light laugh.

Brennan's mouth flattened into an angry line and she clenched her right fist by her side. "I suggest that you take your razor wit and your speculation and..."

.

"Bones! We need to talk," called out Booth as he swiped his access card and took the steps up the platform two at a time.

"Ouch!" said Hacker. "That's my cue to leave..." He sauntered off toward the lights and cameras.

"My office?" suggested Brennan.

"Yeah, good call. Too many cameras," said Booth taking her arm and leading the way.

.

* * *

They entered her office and closed the door. She held out the copy of the magazine.

"I've seen it," said Booth. "Every member of the FBI working on the Eastern seaboard has seen it, thanks to some idiot who e-mailed the electronic version via the global distribution list; unsanctioned I might add. Perotta intercepted the message and kicked the IT chain of command to get it traced. All the proxy links to the article have been blocked in the system, but people are going to use their personal phones to go read this trash."

"How is Perotta taking this?" asked Brennan. "I've come to expect this kind of attention, being in the public eye; but she is newly engaged to be married, so she must be understandably upset at the publication of these lies. My naming as the _'other woman'_ is purely circumstantial. I have nothing to lose, but I will seek a legal retraction."

"Perotta, in her own words is _'as crazy as a Betsy bug'_ over the whole thing," said Booth, putting an arm around her. "But my only concern is for you and me, okay?"

"By rights, this shouldn't affect us, Booth. I can see that you're angry, but you know me well enough to realise that this kind of sensationalist drivel is unlikely to impact upon me to the point where I would feel aggrieved. The situation is annoying, and Hacker is trying to make an issue of it...you know, those knuckledusters you promised me might come in handy," she suggested in a sultry tone.

Booth turned to face her and pulled her into a loose embrace. "I know that this kind of thing doesn't faze you, Bones...and believe me, it's one of the things I love most about you..."

"It is?" she asked, still surprised by the quirks that Booth loved in her.

"Yeah, it is," he said with a warm smile as he pulled her closer.

"Aww, thanks," said Brennan bashfully, clearly charmed by the admission.

"You're welcome," he replied. "Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna kiss you, before you get mad."

"Why am I going to get mad?" she asked.

"Humour me, Bones," he said.

"Fine. Kiss me, Booth," she said with a smile.

.

Three minutes later, Caroline Julian walked in on a _'ghost of Christmas past'_ re-enactment. Except that this time, Dr. Brennan was going for bonus points by grabbing Agent Booth's buttocks while the steamboats sailed by. The entrance of the Prosecutor went unnoticed, as the entranced lovers enjoyed one of their new favourite pastimes.

"Please don't tell me that Max Keenan is in jail and you want special privileges for Easter!" boomed Caroline, her face set to _'supremely unimpressed'_."

The couple broke apart and Brennan looked at Booth. "Is this my cue to become angry?" she asked Booth.

Caroline raised a brow and approached Booth. "You mean you didn't tell her yet?" she asked incredulously. "What were you thinking?"

Brennan answered. "Booth told me that he wanted to kiss me before I got mad. I merely agreed to his proposal."

The Prosecutor turned on Brennan. "Just so you know, Cherie...proposals involve professions of love on one knee, and sparkly jewellery. What you agreed to, Dr. Brennan was letting a man cajole you into stealing a few kisses, instead of manning up and coming clean about the truth behind your recent brush with fame."

"I was getting around to it, Caroline!" complained Booth.

"Mmm hmm? Gettin' around to it...Ain't that just the story of your life when it comes to you and Dr. Brennan here," said Caroline caustically.

"Whatever you have to tell me, I suggest that one of you do so immediately, because I have work to do," said Brennan brusquely.

.

Booth held up a finger to silence Caroline, who looked about ready to blow a gasket. "When Perotta called me, she told me what she'd said to Hannah...which was basically to stay the Hell away from her task-force, particularly the two of us."

"Perotta indicated that she would do as much, when she told us that Hannah was in Chicago. As the SAC, her warning to Hannah was completely congruent with her intent. I fail to see why you would believe that I might have any issue with that..." said Brennan.

Caroline gave an impatient harrumph and decided to interrupt. "Stop dancing around the truth, Agent Booth! Dr. Brennan won't break! The Chicago field office retraced the steps of Ms. Burley before she boarded a plane for Afghanistan last night. Those steps included sending her freelance photographer friend to take a photo of you and DJ Sparky...what kind of imbecile would come up with a name like that, let alone settle for it!...The National Inquirer wouldn't reveal their source...surprise, surprise,...but the author of the article is a staff writer who was a former room-mate of one Hannah Burley."

"So Hannah takes a cheap slug at me...I am still finding it difficult to become angry," said Brennan. "You are usually significantly more annoying than this, Ms. Julian...perhaps you're losing your touch because you have become so fond of me."

"Bones, it's a cheap _'shot'_...and it was aimed at me too. Have you even spoken to your publisher yet?" asked Booth.

"No," she rummaged in the pocket of her lab coat removing her cell phone and dropping a chunky earring to the floor in the process. Booth bent down to pick it up. "My phone was switched off. I missed the call."

.

"Well fancy that! I get to tell you all about what the Federal Government and your publishers have cooked up to divert attention from Operation Redemption," drawled Caroline. "And I guarantee you'll be pissed, Dr. Brennan. Next week, you and Agent Booth head down to N'Orleans as planned, with your task force work staying unofficial. Officially, you'll be on a publicity tour, seeing as your new book is set in the Deep South. The publicity will include spoilers about Kathy and Andy getting hitched, with you and your gorgeous partner being joined at the hip to fuel the fires of speculation."

Brennan finally looked angry. "My publisher wants to release the sub-plot of my new book? It is actually about a bone cult that uses..."

"Not sparky enough, Cherie!" interjected Caroline. "Surely, you can spend three days undercover playing lovey-dovey and going all goo-goo eyed at Seeley Booth. Lord knows you've been practicing for years!"

"Aww! Kathy and Andy get married?" said Booth.

"Yes. They are fictional characters...and it's a sub-plot." Brennan was fast becoming exasperated. "Why should I do this? Booth, I'm not ready to do this..." she implored.

.

"Sure we can, Bones," said Booth reassuringly, glaring at Caroline. "We've gone undercover before. It will draw attention away from the task-force activity, set things right for Peyton and Mark, deal with the negative publicity for your new book that this is attracting, and flip off the National Inquirer at the same time."

"That's right, Cherie...it's what's known as a _'win-win'_ situation," added Caroline backing off on the bluster a little. "Uncle Sam will pick up the tab for the Presidential Suite at some place fancy, seeing as the FBI per diem gets you little more than a seedy motel room in those parts."

"Yeah, we have to keep up appearances," said Booth buoyantly, putting his arm around her shoulder. "C'mon Bones, you _'love'_ undercover work. It'll be a blast!"

"I have become quite the accomplished actor," said Brennan immodestly with a small smile. "Don't you think that the Presidential Suite would be overkill?" she asked Caroline.

The Prosecutor raised an eyebrow. "You get to be the lead actor, Dr. Brennan, not the Executive Producer...unless you'd prefer me to book the Bridal Suite? I can file for a marriage license if you want to make this worthy of an Emmy..."

Booth and Brennan just looked at each other...things were moving fast enough at the moment as it was, without adding even more fictional pressure.

Caroline pointed a finger at Brennan and then waved it between the two of them. "Call your publisher and their press agent. Call your friends and families to give them the heads up...especially Max Keenan! The last thing we need is needless violence. Hopefully, you'll create enough of a diversion so that we can get along with what we're all really here to do, which is to catch those baby-killin', drug-peddlin' monsters."

* * *

**Let me know what you thought of this...pretty please?**


	12. Stairway to Heaven

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 12 - Stairway to Heaven**

**.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'Stairway to Heaven'_, by Led Zeppelin

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me on this story. All the e-mails and reviews are very motivating. I'd also like to give a quick shout out to my personal Twitter agent PolamaluGirl...thank you for the enthusiastic Tweets - this one is for you ;D**

* * *

_Saturday, March 19th 2011 - Washington D.C. (Feast of St. Joseph - 10th Day of Lent)_

She hadn't said anything; but he knew. Temperance Brennan was stewing about something. It wasn't the long silences, or the distant focus that would fall over her face a dozen times a day, or the way that she set about practically devouring him the moment they were alone. All of that was normal. Booth was used to her quiet intensity after working with her for years...okay, that whole _'devouring'_ thing was pretty new to him, but he wasn't complaining about that development.

Bones was worrying and twisting at her Mother's ring absently; her little poker tell, the one that spoke volumes to the gambler in him. During their ride home last night, the precious metal and inset stones had captured the street lights that had bordered their familiar path, flickering their minute reflections in his peripheral vision. She'd stepped from his bathroom after washing away the strain of the day and turned to stare at the distant lights of a passenger jet cutting across the inky night horizon; wearing nothing but a towel and that ring, which transmitted its' Morse code sparkles to where he sat up against the headboard of his bed, as she worried at it with her thumb crossed under her palm. He had asked her what she was thinking about. Cryptically, she answered _'fiction'_, before discarding the towel to the floor and with quiet, but passionate intensity, she set about devouring him. Wearing nothing but that ring.

.

* * *

Booth had risen early to attend Mass. Today was the Feast of Saint Joseph, Patron Saint of Fathers and families. In a fitting coincidence, they were going to take Pops out for lunch and Bones had sensibly suggested inviting Max along, so that they could be informed of the upcoming publicity. It was a practical suggestion, which could avoid Booth copping a well-aimed jab to the cojones if Max decided that he was still holding a grudge. Max had seen him with Hannah once; just days after Bones had delivered her devastating admission in the SUV. Bones had been like a ghost of herself in those first difficult days, every erg of her ultra-calm facade had seemed to scream at him hauntingly. Max had approached him, wearing his grey lab coat and a sober expression, saying darkly _'I haven't seen her this happy since they faked your death, G-man'_.

No greetings, no direct threats; no guarantees of his safety either.

.

Returning to his apartment after Mass, he was not surprised to find Bones awake and tackling the new day, dressed in jeans and an ANU sweatshirt, on her second cup of coffee; and judging by the crime scene on the plate next to the fruit bowl, her third piece of fruit. She was typing away rapidly on her laptop, an activity which didn't cease in response to his entry.

.

"Are you blessed, confessed, and ready to face the day," she asked with a smile of greeting.

He gave her a withering look. "Heathen!" he said affectionately.

"That's _'hungry heathen'_ to you. Did you bring breakfast?" she asked with a laugh.

"Yup!" he answered holding up a bag. "A feast fit for a vegetarian."

She stopped typing. "Another day of no meat for you of course. Lunch will be interesting."

"Don't you mean boring?" he asked.

"Only from your gastronomic perspective...today is technically the day when we _'fester up'_ to our parental figures," said Brennan as she approached him and cheekily snatched the bag of food, taking it to the kitchen counter.

"That's _'fess up'_, as in a confession, Bones," Booth said, making a grab for one of the packages as he swung in to kiss her cheek. "Hey! I want some of those hash browns, so just back away from the breakfast, lady."

Brennan pouted and handed the packet over. "A confession makes more sense. I couldn't completely reconcile a festering sore within the context of making an admission."

"Did you manage to pull in that favour to get us a table for lunch?" asked Booth around a mouthful of hash brown, as he took his now loaded-down plate to the table.

"Yes. It was very short notice, but I dropped _your _name and Chef Wyatt said that he would make room," she replied handing him cutlery as she sat down with her own plate.

"Ha! It's not often that _'my'_ name opens doors," said Booth with a grin as he tucked into his meat free assortment of breakfast foods; most of them fried and well salted.

"That is a matter of perspective..." said Brennan, her tone and heated glance across her coffee cup, heavily salted with innuendo.

"Are you writing _'sparky bits' _for your book this morning, Temperance?" he asked. "Because we really need to clear up this whole inspiration for Andy Ryan thing before we fly out on Tuesday."

She gave him a sharp glance, tempered by a sultry smile. "Can we leave that issue for another time?" she asked. "I would prefer to get through lunch...and the seduction scene in this chapter first."

.

They ate in their own brand of companionable silence, which included a hard fought kleptomanic clash for the hash browns.

"Y'know...we've never done _'page 187'_ before..." said Booth, licking some sort of condiment from his finger, way too slowly to be a reflex action.

"Well, according to the journalistic authority of the National Inquirer, I have..." she said evenly. A twist of her Mother's ring suggested that the allegations were bugging her. "I never have...have you?" she asked, pinning him with her honest gaze.

He stared back openly with a ghost of a smile, because he knew where this was going. "No...I haven't. Not because I'm a prude either, _Dr. Feelgood_!"

"So...Hannah, never wanted to...?" she asked bluntly.

"Umm...no..." he said, feeling the promised discomfort that his gut had warned him about.

"Don't be uncomfortable. I really don't care why," said Brennan conversationally. "For some reason, people seem to go out of their way to tell me about their _'page 187'_ experiences. It apparently requires sexual confidence, experience and trust between lovers to achieve the pleasure and intimacy that surpasses the simple formulaic sexual gymnastics involved."

Booth swallowed his mouthful of food, feeling a hard lump forming in his throat that was echoed by the one forming in his boxers. "I'd like to try it with you sometime..."

"Likewise," she said with a grin, leaning forward conspiratorially she lowered her voice. "You know, Hank was one of those people who went out of his way to tell me about the experience..."

"You're serious?" he exclaimed.

"Serious as the heart attack he thought he was having after he did it," she said with a wry grin. "It was a very adventurous undertaking for a man of his age and medical co-morbidities."

"Y'know, I don't think I wanna hear any more. I've got to look Pops in the face over lunch, I don't to be think about him..." Booth winced and closed his eyes trying to come up with an analogy.

Brennan laughed, "...doing complex crochet?"

.

* * *

Max Keenan was waiting for them at their table, when Booth and Brennan arrived at the restaurant with Hank. The stubborn old guy had insisted on taking the bus to D.C that morning. Booth had insisted on picking Pops up from the bus station, after a fond blustering session over the phone between the two Booth men that had made Brennan smile.

.

Introductions were made, with Max Keenan turning on the roguish charm that had he and Hank telling off-colour anecdotes and making derisive comments about recent sports performances within minutes of their meeting. Surprisingly, when Hank had announced his intent to order a vegetarian meal, in observance of the Catholic holiday, Max decided that he too would join in the flesh-free dining experience.

While waiting for their entrees to arrive, Brennan decided to break up the breadstick duel between Hank and her Dad, by announcing that she and Booth would be going to New Orleans on Tuesday.

.

"You're eloping?" asked Hank hopefully.

"Not if you believe the _'National Inquirer'_," growled Max. "I hope you're suing them Tempe..."

"Yes. My attorney is pursuing the matter," she replied.

"The _National Inquirer_?" said Hank with disdain. "That rag isn't even kept for emergency toilet paper where I live...it goes straight to lining cat litter boxes. Cats love to crap on it. What did they say about you, Honey?"

"It doesn't bear repetition, Hank," she replied. "But the consequences of the media attention have impacted upon our work, my forthcoming book, and our relationship."

Max directed a dangerous look at Booth. "Could you dash your relationship on the rocks anymore than you already have? Jesus, Tempe! I don't know how the two of you can stand to be in the same room some days...obviously, today is a good day in the scheme of things."

The breadstick in Booth's hand snapped. "Max, all of that is past now. Every day with your daughter is the best day of my life. She knows that!"

"I can speak for myself, Booth!" retorted Brennan. "It's true, Dad." Booth rolled his eyes, but grabbed her hand anyway. She glanced at him sideways and gave him a small grin.

"You finally pulled your head out your ass and lost that blonde Camel Spider that bit you in Afghanistan, eh Shrimp?" crowed Hank. "Atta boy! We should order Champagne..."

"You shouldn't be drinking alcohol on your medications, Hank!" chided Brennan, causing knowing looks to pass between Hank and Max. The entrees arrived and were passed around the table.

.

"Look, we weren't planning on going public so soon, but our hands are being forced by the Feds, and by the Publisher," said Booth, picking up his fork and searching for signs of protein in the leafy greenness in the bowl in front of him.

"To draw media attention away from the important work that we are involved in right now, Booth and I will be going undercover on a _'promotional tour'_ for my new book next week. Our relationship will be subject to deliberate speculation, in order to allow our real work to progress without scrutiny. The reason that we asked you both here today was to let you know that there will be media reports of our relationship mirroring that of the characters in my new book."

"You mean Kathy gets to have Andy's baby after one too many steamy sessions of backseat loving?" asked Hank gleefully. "I'm going to be the centre of attention in the crochet club!"

.

Booth placed his head in his hands, unwittingly transferring breadstick crumbs onto his hair.

"No, Hank," corrected Brennan. "Kathy and Andy are getting married. So we will have to publicly portray a couple completely infatuated with each other and actively planning to spend the rest their lives together."

"Geez!" drawled Max. "Do you think you've got the acting chops to pull that off?"

"Eh, Max," said Hank with a wheezing laugh. "That ain't such a stretch...the piper's been calling their tune for years. It's just a pity that your daughter's been tuning into the wrong channel and my grandson is tone deaf."

Brennan turned to Booth. "What are they talking about?"

"The past, Bones," said Booth directing a grimace at the two men chortling at their own wit across the table. "Old men do that...talk about the past."

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, Seeley!" said Hank. "I'm just glad that I get to see the two of you enjoying the happiness you deserve before I die."

"Don't be so damned morbid, Pops!" said Booth.

Brennan sniffled and directed a watery smile at Hank. "It's so sweet of you to say that, Hank."

Max looked at his teary daughter. "Did you knock my daughter up, Booth? Because, she hasn't cried at the dinner table since she was four. Her Mom always got weepy, way before the rabbit died."

"Dad..." she said, getting even more emotional. Her knuckles whitened as they gripped the cutlery suspended above her plate.

.

Booth gently took the knife and fork from her hands and pulled her into an embrace. Her arms slipped around his waist and she began to relax a little after letting a couple of muffled sobs go against his collar.

"What we really need is time, and space," said Booth quietly. "This past year has been..."

"A disaster?" suggested Hank.

"A big mistake? contributed Max.

"Yeah, those things...and plenty of other things too. We've done and said things that we both regret...Right now, we're trying to find our way to a permanent peace between us, that's just between us...not played out in front of the media," said Booth as he stroked a hand up and down Brennan's back.

.

"Oh, my word! Please don't tell me that the entrees are disastrous enough to make my favourite Anthropologist cry?" said Chef Gordon Gordon Wyatt as he reached the table. "I shall find the fool in the kitchen responsible and have their hide!" he proclaimed.

Brennan raised her head from Booth's shoulder and pulled herself together. "Not at all," she said. "I am just attempting to convince my father that I am in love with Booth, but I don't think that I'm having much success."

"Damn. Now I think I'm gonna cry...," said Max quietly. He grasped at her hand across the table. "You didn't need to convince me, Honey...I've just been waiting for you to convince yourself."

"Hey, Chef?" said Hank conspiratorially. "Could you arrange a big bowl of freshly chopped onions for us out here, because I'm gettin' a little misty over here myself. We Booth men need an alibi when the tears start."

.

"Just shut up you two!" said Booth. "Let me get a word in edgeways and give a guy a chance to tell a girl that he loves her, okay?"

Brennan moved a hand behind his head and pulled Booth in for a kiss.

.

"Very demonstrative!" commented Chef Wyatt. "I've seen marriage proposals at this establishment with less passion..."

Hank leaned in toward Max. "They didn't do that in public in my day!"

"They did in mine, old-timer!" said Max. "But usually when their parents weren't looking...kids today, huh?"

The couple broke apart with a laugh.

.

"Congratulations on finally finding your way together," said Gordon Gordon with a smile. "I hope that your colleague, Dr. Sweets, will assist you through your time of transition."

"Uh, yeah," said Booth. "We're seeing him on Monday, to help us with our cover."

"Ah, splendid...but a word of advice, if I may?" said Gordon Gordon.

"Sure..." said Booth with a shrug.

"Don't divulge too much about your physical relationship to Dr. Sweets...particularly you, Dr. Brennan, because you are so delightfully candid..." the Chef offered with a smile. "Appeal to his pragmatic, melancholic demeanor; do something that he would both lament and expect from the two of you. Tell him that Agent Booth has given up sex for Lent and that, you, Dr. Brennan, are waiting for him."

"I believe that that was our original intent, but Booth was too difficult to resist...especially when he made a show of removing his towel when I was making a business call to China," said Brennan with a smile.

"No way, Bones!" said Booth, jumping into the fray. "You were the one told me to _take it off!_ And don't even get me started on how you jumped me after rebounding from _Champagne Hangover of the Century_!"

Brennan held up a finger to interject. "As I recall it, you were the one that woke me up to give me the _'magic pills'_ that cured my hangover..."

.

Gordon Gordon Wyatt tapped a fork on a water glass to put a stop to the rapidly deteriorating dialogue. Brennan and Booth looked at each other, and then looked at the Chef, wearing slightly bashful expressions.

"That kind of outburst is exactly what I am referring to!" said Gordon Gordon waving the water glass and fork animatedly. "How can you expect Dr. Sweets to support you with therapy and advice that will assist you to navigate the treacherous shoals that will lead you to the seas of happiness, when you distract him by playing out the titillating minutiae of your relationship? Entertaining, yet very personal moments, such as the one you just discussed, are for you...and you alone."

.

"That sounds like a reasonable suggestion," said Brennan.

"Anything that keeps Sweets from prying to find out all my best moves," drawled Booth with a cocky grin.

"Hey, remember whose daughter you're pulling those moves on, pal," said Max.

"I've got moves of my own, thanks Dad!" shot back Brennan.

Hank gave a cackle. "Your daughter is one feisty girl, Max!"

"Yeah? Well your grandson is one cocky bastard..." retorted Max.

Gordon-Gordon called for silence again with the fork and the water glass. "Cocky is precisely what the man's belt buckle says!" declared the Chef. "Now who would like to try my freshly prepared pumpkin tortellini?"

.

* * *

Following a long lunch, Hank Booth capitulated and let Booth and Brennan drive him back to his retirement home. The old guy told Shrimp stories for the first half of the journey until he dozed off, leaving Brennan plenty of time to relate her thoughts about Booth's devastated reaction to the reportedly mouthwatering Pecan Pie that Gordon Gordon had offered for their dessert. Booth had shared a chocolate lava cake with Brennan instead; with the ensuing volcano innuendo erupting into thinly veiled threats by Max Keenan to manufacture a bread stick shiv.

.

It was after four p.m. by the time they said farewell to Hank. Booth had been scandalised when Brennan had accidentally laddered her panty hose when getting out of the SUV and Pops had referred to the ladder as a _'Stairway to Heaven'_. She had asked what Hank had meant by it, and Booth had promised to tell her later.

.

Some time later, following a brief stop at her apartment to collect some items for her _'vacation' _wardrobe for the New Orleans trip, she was hanging her clothes in his closet. Still wearing her flattering floral dress from lunch, she decided to change into jeans and a casual shirt for the evening. Reaching behind her neck, she manipulated the hook and eye open, before tackling the zipper. Booth took the opportunity to move up behind her and take over the task. She didn't require assistance to get undressed, but foreplay was an exception to her feminist sensibilities.

Before removing the dress, he ran a hand down her thigh until his fingers met the laddered stocking that disappeared up under the hem that fell just above her knee.

"So tell me what you _'do'_ know about the _'Stairway to Heaven'_, Bones," asked Booth.

.

"According to Russ and some of my high school peers, it is a song which is never be played in a guitar shop," she said. "I don't know what taboo is associated with the phenomenon, perhaps you can enlighten me."

"It's _'Rock n Roll, Baby!'_" he replied with a chuckle. "Remember that case with the fantasy camp, when you told me you'd been offered tickets to the last _Led Zeppelin _concert?"

She gave a short laugh as she recalled the case. "Yes. You wore a tie around your head. They played our song."

"Yeah, I remember," he said to her, his fingers inching up the ladder on her leg. "_Led Zeppelin_ are the band who play the song _'Stairway to Heaven'_, it is really, really famous."

She grabbed his wandering hand and turned to face him. "So what does that have to do with a ladder in my panty hose? Is the song a homage to women's hosiery?"

He gave her a cocky grin. "It's about a woman who is so much more than what she appears to be on the surface. But when we're talking about laddered stockings, the song title is just innuendo..." he said as he steered her toward his bed and sat her down. "I'll demonstrate."

.

Taking her foot in his hands, Booth removed her shoe and ran his hands up to the point where the ladder originated just below her knee, placing his lips at that point, before making his way up her leg following the path of the defect.

"Ah, a euphemism for foreplay, with the promise of sexual fulfillment," she said with a husky laugh. "Please continue."

* * *

A/N: Thirty more songs to go! But next up is a bonus chapter...I hope that you enjoyed this one!


	13. Hold Me

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 13 - Hold Me**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'Hold Me', by Fleetwood Mac

**A/N: Wow, the second bonus chapter in this story, already! I've had some issues posting to the site, so sorry about the delay. This chapter is titled and themed after a song from one of my own playlists. I'd also like to thank pals reading who are Catholic, offering assistance with my sometimes ham fisted handling of the Lenten calendar, so thank you telling what I'm doing right & what is going to get me struck down (sorry, I have an irreverent streak that cannot be denied). A very special thank you goes out to Angiebc *hugs***

* * *

_Sunday, March 20th 2011 - Washington D.C. (Second Sunday of Lent)_

"Booth, you're going to have to help support my upper torso if this is going to work!" said Brennan.

"Hey, relax, I'm trying here Bones..." said Booth."Now where do you want my right hand again?"

"It's your left hand. Support me from behind and place your left hand on my right upper quadrant..." she gave a snort. "Nice try. That's my right breast. Lower. The right upper quadrant of my _'abdomen'_...I know you passed science in High School."

"Yeah," he said dejectedly, moving his hand as directed. "But I met this totally hot teacher a few years ago...and I get distracted by her sexy squintyness."

"Hold still!" she hissed. "Right...there, the angle is perfect. Now all I have to do is push the button..._Ahh!_ Hopefully the flash will enhance the image this time. I just need to move slightly to the left, just a couple more shots."

.

"Do you have to photograph every square inch of it?" he asked.

"Yes. I want the reconstruction to be as accurate as possible," she said emphatically.

"That's a lot of inches, Bones...and I'm getting really distracted by you hanging over the edge of my bed with your ass in the air. Can I take a photo of that?," he asked, his left hand creeping back up to her right breast in what was promising to be a sensual game of Twister once she got what she needed.

"You may not," she said archly. "In order to avoid injury to your back by attempting to move the bed to take images of the post carvings, this was a practical alternative. And if you persist on your quest to manhandle me while I'm taking photographs, we will fail to complete what we started here. Hank was keen to discuss the history of this bed and I've asked a colleague at NYU to look at the style and patterns of wood carving, so that hopefully, I can give your grandfather some historical background from the time and place that it was constructed. The images can be reconstructed tomorrow at the Jeffersonian and they can be examined while we are away in New Orleans."

"Pops will be amazed that you've gone to all this trouble. It'll be like Antiques Roadshow. He loves that show!" Booth said enthusiastically.

"All done. You can let me go now," she said, shifting precariously in their slightly bizarre embrace.

.

Booth pulled her body toward him a little tighter. "This is kind of fun...are you sure?" he asked next to her ear, before kissing her neck.

"You are scheduled to attend church in an hour, and I have forensic evidence from four New Orleans cases to review," she replied, untangling herself and placing the camera on the bedside drawers. Booth sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her on top of him, where she chuckled at his persistence.

"Which is why I'm _telling you_ that I'm gonna kiss you goodbye _now_, Dr. Brennan," he said with a cocky grin.

"The circumstantial and physical evidence is _'telling me'_ that you want to remove my clothes and do significantly more than that," she said barely brushing her lips along his.

"Must you tease me with your squinty assessments of why I can't keep my hands off you? The spirit is willing; but the flesh is weak..." quoted Booth

_"Spiritus quidem promptus; caro vero infirma,"_ she said with a superior smile.

"You missed your calling, Bones," he laughed. "Sister Immaculata never taught Catechism class like this."

"I should hope not..." she replied, sliding her hands down to his hips, her fingers invading under the waistband of his sweatpants in response to the flash-flood of arousal that washed over her.

.

Still semi-permanently drunk on the smell, sound and feel of Bones he wound his fingers into her messy ponytail and tugged it gently to pull her head down for a kiss. It started out lazy and unhurried, but soon their lips and tongues were bickering back and forth with the intensity of one of their displays during a session with Sweets. She lost patience with foreplay, trying and failing to control her response to the explorations of his hands; which seemed to be as unerringly accurate as his gut since he had started to learn what she liked. The man was a quick study and proving to be an excellent match, versatile enough to be her agonist or antagonist as required. Pushing herself up, straddling him, she proceeded to pull her shirt over her head.

"In a hurry there?" he asked with a cocky smile. "That's what the _'physical evidence'_ is telling me."

"I'd be happy to let you head off to church immediately, but you may have a small problem to contend with..." she said, glancing down with a smirk.

"A _'small'_ problem?" he said indignantly. "Way to wound a guy's ego, Bones!"

.

Brennan poked him in the ribs, biting her lip as he squirmed underneath her. She leaned forward and he made a show of leering at her breasts in the white lacy bra she was still wearing.

"In the interest of full disclosure and the wellbeing of your fragile ego...we don't have much time..." she said, before placing her lips next his ear and whispering. _"...and I need you, now."_

He gave her a salute. "Yes, Ma'am! One Seeley Booth quickie, coming right up!"

She gave a squawk of surprise as he flipped her onto her back, dissolving into laughter as he made a show of synchronising their watches before fulfilling his promise.

.

* * *

They had agreed to meet for a late lunch at the Diner. Booth turned up in his Sunday Best. Brennan was waiting for him, wearing a green wrap-around dress that she had impulsively pulled from the closet at her apartment, unsure whether she would actually wear it; but the afternoon had turned out to be unseasonably warm, making it a good choice.

The warm afternoon had somehow signaled the citizens of Washington D.C. to venture out into an early springtime, hence, the Diner was packed full of people enjoying a Sunday afternoon snack. Booth took a seat at the counter next to Brennan and frowned over in the direction of their usual table, leaning in, offering to badge the group sat there, to encourage them to move on. Brennan laughed at his alpha-maleness, placing an affectionate hand on his cheek and a fond kiss on his lips. The waitress bringing over fresh cups to serve their coffee dropped them in shock, and an exclamation of _'Holy Shit!'_ was heard from the kitchen. Directing a cocky grin at the short order cook, who was giving them a thumbs up through the kitchen hatch; Booth suggested that they order _'to go'_ and enjoy the sunshine, assuring Brennan that they would be able to find a park bench by either blind luck, or blatant badging.

.

A bench in a quiet corner of the Jeffersonian gardens was the eventual site of their impromptu picnic. After two days of abstention from meat, Booth made up for lost time; his meal was completely devoid of vegetables. Brennan dug around in her bag for her sunglasses.

"Nice sunglasses, Bones!" said Booth, as she unwrapped a disgustingly healthy looking dark rye sandwich containing the antithesis of his own lunch.

"They are my second favourite pair..." she commented. "You don't want them, do you? Because I don't have a third favourite."

"Nah...I'm good," he replied. "They're a bit girly. Plus it's nice to squint in the bright sunlight for a change, winter dragged on forever this year."

.

Brennan gave an eye roll at the hyperbole, but had a mouthful of her sandwich and stayed silent. Booth took a large bite of his messy meaty meal, which was deconstructing itself from the burger bun with a mind of its own. He leaned forward to avoid having a gooey piece of it ending up as a particulate on his good suit, it landed with a small splat on the paving. Brennan wordlessly handed him a napkin, which he used to wipe his chin.

"That tastes awesome," he said happily.

Brennan glanced down at the meaty dollop on ground near his feet. "You should pick that up before a small animal comes to harm through eating it."

"Hey, there's protein for some little critter who's survived winter here in D.C.," he countered.

"It's the associated fat and salt content that I'd be concerned about," she said with a grin, as she bit into her healthier option. Booth sipped noisily at his soda.

"So, Bones," he said, his tone assuming seriousness. "You've still got to tell me about your Kathy and Andy get married plot. And we've got to get our story straight for our session with Sweets tomorrow."

.

Brennan glanced around to see if anyone else was in earshot.

"Seriously? You're worried about someone overhearing?" he asked.

"Yes." she said. "The information is proprietary; I could breach my contract with my publisher."

"It's going to be leaked to your unofficial fan page and the media in the next 48 hours," said Booth. "They won't care."

Brennan gave a patient sigh. "I will care, Booth. The spoiler information will be vague. We are discussing details...and right now, I don't have much faith in the media."

.

"Okay, point taken," he said. A smile grew on his face and his eyes lit up with an idea. "Maybe we should talk about Kathy and Andy, but call them by some kind of alias...like Romeo and Juliet!"

"Too clichéd," she said.

"Dick and Jane..."

"Too puerile."

"Mulder and Scully."

"Which one is supposed to be the male?" she asked.

"Never mind," he said. "Bert and Ernie."

"Both male...and puppets. That would be weird," she said, giving him an amused glance.

"Gah! You're a tough crowd...let's keep it simple. Booth and Brennan," he said, assuming that logic would come up trumps.

"That would be like talking about ourselves in the third person," she complained. "We'd need Sweets for that."

"Yeah, true. Too close to home," mused Booth, wracking his brains. "Having a hypothetical discussion with you is like counting cards..."

"Illegal and liable to end up getting your knees broken?" she asked with a grin.

.

"I am so adding you to my prayers tonight...I know!" he said suddenly inspired, a shit-eating grin emerging on his face. "Superman and Wonder Woman."

Brennan laughed heartily, almost tipping her sandwich onto her lap. "Ridiculous, but acceptable for the purposes of this conversation," she conceded.

"What were we talking about anyways?" quipped Booth. Brennan aimed a pickle at him, her raised brow daring him to make her day.

"Not the suit!" he said, attempting to scoot away on the bench, almost falling off the end of it. Brennan extended her hand to haul him back toward her.

.

Brennan took a sip of her soda and grimaced, realising it was Booth's. Taking a sip from the other cup, she washed away the cloying sweetness with her own drink.

"Superman is keen to ask Wonder Woman to marry him. But he knows that Wonder Woman has strong Amazonian sentiments about marriage; they are both wary, having been in unsuccessful relationships in the past," she began.

"So they've both tried and failed and been burned along the way," Booth said.

"Exactly...but Superman and Wonder Woman would both be immune from the deleterious effects of burns, on account of their Super-powers," she said.

"I take your point, Bones. But now is not the time to come out as a purist Justice League fangirl, okay?" he said with a shake of his head.

"Fine. I'm just characterising..." she complained. "Superman and Wonder Woman have a highly satisfying sex life..."

"Case in point, _'page 187'_. Which should totally be done in costume," he said with a grin.

"I'll take that under consideration," she said with a smile that he'd never seen her use in public before. Booth was quietly coveting Superman's stretchy Lycra pants at that moment.

Brennan continued on, her lunch forgotten. "Wonder Woman is approaching the end of her viable child-bearing years, and although the subject of her wanting a child has been raised, her dedication to the important work at the Justice League has kept her from realising her dream. Before she and Superman got together, she spent some time on the Island of Themyscira, going back to her roots and contemplating the things that were important in her life. At the same time Superman retreated to his Fortress of Solitude, where he was going to stabilise unrest in the region and also going to take a little time away from the Justice League. But he was bitten by a radioactive Kryptonite Ice Spider and in his weakened state, he became ensnared in its web."

"It sounds a bit like a Spiderman crossover...so they've spent some time apart. How long?" he asked.

"Long enough...it's not really relevant to the plot, Booth." She gave him a long look. "Too long."

.

He moved the soda cup that sat between them and shifted closer, placing and arm around her shoulder and kissing her temple. She leaned against him and ran a hand down his thigh absently.

"Okay, Wonder Woman and Superman return to the Justice League...and he asks her to marry him?" prompted Booth.

"No, the plot is more complex than that, Booth. I have a reputation as a best-selling author to maintain," she said with a chuckle. "They have to return to Metropolis early...to save the World. Superman is recovering from his incident with the Ice Spider and he doesn't realise it but the spider follows him back to Metropolis and takes up residence in his apartment. Wonder Woman wants to tell Superman that she loves him, but...he is caught in the web of the spider. They still do their work at Justice League, but Wonder Woman begins to doubt the things that make her a super-hero. Her self-confidence, her sexuality, her ability to ever be a mother, whether she is worthy of her partnership with Superman."

"Geez, there's going to be a lot of angst along with whatever gruesome case you've cooked up for this book, Bones," he said with a heavy heart. Booth realised that this was her process, and that she knew that he knew what lay at the centre of this multifaceted analogy.

"The case involves the perfect murder. It's a thematic counterpoint to the chaos in the lives of the central protagonists," she said. "Despite Wonder Woman and Superman finally find their way back into each other's hearts, and beds; my Editor and I are still debating whether Kathy should ask Andy, or the other way around."

"What do you think?" he said, ignoring her slip from the Justice League analogy.

"I'm...conflicted," she admitted. "I've always maintained that marriage is an archaic institution which holds even less meaning today than it did when women were bonded into servitude with it. However, I have also come to appreciate that people with strong values systems see marriage as a logical evolution of the decision to take a mate...or a soul-mate. I never had any reason to consider it a worthwhile undertaking, even if offspring are involved. But now..."

"Wonder Woman has a reason..." finished Booth.

"She has several," said Brennan with a sultry smile. "The reasons are not just about Superman's..."

"Yeah, let's try and keep it PG, Bones," interjected Booth in a hissing whisper and looking around to see if anyone was in earshot. "We can talk about the sparky bits in private."

"Angela is usually around for that part," she said with a laugh.

"Yeah, you told me...bottle of wine, lots of sex talk. Not that she is in any condition to do either of those right now," he said.

"On the consumption of alcohol, I concur," she said. "But Angela likes to talk about sex, particularly as her repertoire is currently being limited by her gravid state."

"Let's just leave all talk of her _'gravid'_ limitations right there, okay?" said Booth looking a little queasy.

"Angela tells me that sex during pregnancy is extremely enjoyable. Would you have sex with me if I were heavily pregnant, Booth?" she asked bluntly, turning slightly to observe his reaction directly.

"Absolutely," he shot back, wanting to head that particular discussion off at the pass. "But we're getting off topic here. You were telling me that Kathy would be doing the proposing, but now you're in two minds. Why?"

"Wonder Woman, Booth...and Superman," she said insistently.

"Right...," he said, turning to face her. "So why the change of heart, and why does it matter?"

"Because, to Superman, the proposal has more meaning...it aligns more strongly with his personal, cultural and spiritual mores from an Anthropological perspective. It shouldn't matter who asks who, and my Editor favours Wonder Woman doing the asking...but she is a Lesbian, which biases her opinion - if she decided to get married, a woman would be always be proposing in her World view. Hence, my being conflicted."

.

Booth took a sip of his soda and realised that it was some sort of ghastly iced-tea. He handed the cup to Brennan.

"Yecch! How can you drink that stuff?" he asked. "So let me get this straight, Bones. You're in two minds about Wonder Woman doing the proposing and you're backing away from the idea because your Editor would rather that Wonder Woman be asking Cat Woman to get hitched? That's all well and good...and I've gotta admit, probably a little too hot for a Justice League analogy."

"Correct," she said with a laugh. "I acknowledge that there is a significant cliché in the alpha-male proposal scenario. But in the absence of experiential anecdotes to support my decision; my inclination is weighed in favour of Anthropology."

"Then you should go with Anthropology," he said encouragingly.

"Booth..." she hesitated. "You've proposed marriage before...you've read my books...your personal influences are not dissimilar to those of Andy...I mean, Superman. We have to create a cover around this moment. What would you choose?"

He couldn't hide the flash of pain that crossed his face. "Alright, humour me here, Bones...because you know I've never gotten a _'Yes'_ whenever I asked." It was her turn to look uncomfortable. "If I were Superman...and I knew Wonder Woman was willing..." he paused and grabbed the foil wrapper from his lunch and began scrunching it up between his hands.

"What are you doing, Booth?" she asked, mildly entertained by his flash of inspiration.

"Method acting...it's all the rage," he said with a grin. "Re-enact the scene in your mind. I'm Superman. You're Wonder Woman. We're sat on the steps of the Justice League bickering about whether I should hop into your invisible airplane and go back to your place, or if I should just scoop you up and fly you back to my Metropolis apartment for the night."

"We should probably take my plane, because I wouldn't want you to hurt your back re-enacting a flight back to your place," she said earnestly.

.

"Okay, skip that part," suggested Booth. "It's a gorgeous sunrise. We've been up catching bad guys all night, and we're still sat on the steps of the Justice League...but Wonder Woman is gazing wistfully at her left hand, the sun is reflecting of her Amazonian bracelets as she regrets not asking Superman to get married. Superman notices that she's hesitant and throws caution to the wind, because he loves Wonder Woman and wants them to be happy together. He's been burned by Lois Lane before, but she was a mere mortal...and Wonder Woman is a super-hero, and always wears costumes that show off her awesome boobs."

"I have a bust like Wonder Woman's," she said with a smile. "I love wearing the costume at Halloween!"

"I know," he said, trying not to look too openly at said cleavage in the green dress. "So Superman uses his super powers to attract particles of Amazonian from all over the planet, maybe even the entire Solar System and then he uses his vision and his super strength to make this..."

Booth held out his cupped hands, containing the misshapen foil from his lunch packaging.

"What is it?" she asked peering into his hands and resisting using her own hands to lift and examine the bizarre creation. "It's too big to be an engagement ring. You'll have to elaborate, Superman."

"Sheesh, Wonder Woman, give a superhero a break. It's a prototype...symbolic of his love for her...but you're right, it's not a ring," he said with a smile.

Brennan frowned, assuming her Wonder Woman persona. They probably needed to get some acting practice in before their stint undercover in any case. "If that is an Amazonian chastity belt, Superman, I'm going to jam it right up your Super..."

He placed a finger over her lips. "Let's get a little more evidence on the board before you get your star-spangled panties in a bunch, okay Wonder Woman?" She nodded mutely.

"So Superman gets down on one knee..." Booth slipped off the bench and assumed the pose, ignoring her raised eyebrows. "He says, _Wonder Woman, Diana Prince...whatever your name is...You know I love you more than the yellow sun of this Solar System that gives me all my super powers. I know you have a kick-ass Amazon reputation to uphold, but I can't go another day without asking...will you do me the honour of being my super-hero wife and be the mother of our super-hero babies, by accepting these Amazonian knuckle dusters that I created for you?_"

.

Brennan gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "Our DNA may not be compatible Superman. I'm not sure if we could have children."

"Eh, I've got Super-sperm and we'll get some super-squint at the Justice League to get onto that...so what do you say, Wonder Woman?" he asked, proffering the foil knuckledusters. She took the scrunched up foil from his hand, trying not to laugh. Voices floated over from a small group of foreign tourists who had gathered, chattering away excitedly.

"Don't look now, Booth," she said in a stage whisper, behind her hand which was feigning wiping tears from her cheek. Demonstrating her own acting chops, her cheeks were realistically damp. "We've got an audience. You should consider amateur dramatics."

"Okay, Bones, let's give them a show. We're on you..._action!"_ he whispered.

.

Brennan placed a hand on his cheek and Booth took her other hand, still holding the crumpled foil, between his hands. A small encouraging cheer came from the tourists.

"Superman, if it were anyone other than you asking, I'd be throttling them with the Lasso of Truth right now," she said barely able to contain her impulse to collapse with laughter. "You're the only man that I will ever be satisfied by, regardless of whether I'm wearing my costume or not."

Booth gave a snort. "Not an issue, I've got X-Ray vision, baby!"

"I'd still be happy to throttle you with my Lasso..." she threatened."But I would be happy to be your super wife until the end of time, or until the planet is consumed by a black hole - _because technically, we're immortal, Booth_," she added in a very Brennan footnote.

"So, that's a yes?" he asked, putting the foil over the knuckles of her left hand.

She nodded, giving a thumbs and a wink to the small crowd, who clapped and cheered wildly. "Quick, kiss me!" she hissed.

.

Booth complied until the cheering died down and their passionate clinch attracted a number of wolf whistles. One English speaker yelled at them to get a room.

They re-instated themselves on the bench, their hands joined loosely. Brennan looked at the back of her hand, and scrunched up her nose, showing her left hand to him. "I think some of your lunch particulates transferred onto my knuckledusters, Booth."

He took her hand and nibbled at the smudge of sauce. "Mmm! delicious."

"That was a great deal of fun, Booth," she said leaning against him. She tilted her head to look up into his face with a serious expression. "Next week, or whenever you're ready, you should know that knuckledusters...and chastity belts are probably unacceptable symbols to be used in a proposal of marriage."

"Ring, bunch of flowers, something traditional - check," he said kissing the tip if her nose. "But you don't get a Lasso, or star-spangled panties, okay?"

"Deal," she said with a grin.

* * *

A/N: Uh, yeah…this chapter ran away and did whatever it wanted – sorry about that! Next up...fun with everyone's favourite baby duck, Sweets!


	14. I Walk the Line

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 14 - I Walk the Line**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'I Walk the Line' _by Johnny Cash.

**A/N: I'm just going to take the opportunity to have a little outpouring of thanks to all the wonderful readers and reviewers - the last couple of weeks has been a testing time in RL, so thank you for sticking with me :D**

* * *

_Monday, March 21st 2011 - Washington D.C. (11th Day of Lent)_

Dr. Lance Sweets sat waiting in his office, the foot of one lanky leg balanced over the knee of the other, reviewing his briefing note and wearing his serious face; because what he had been asked to do today was seriously whacked. Totally. It was almost as bad as the day he'd suggested to Daisy that it was time to change the Twister themed bedspread at her place, citing that they had probably outgrown it. After she'd finished tearing him a new one over his misguided suggestion, she made it up to him by showing him just how many permutations of four limbs and four coloured circles were physically possible. Who knew that the little firecracker, who needed a documented plan for her daily panty selection, could actually place her foot on the red circle behind her ear? Good times.

.

The familiar cadence of a bickering duet between Second Tenor and Mezzo Soprano voices reached the pitch-perfect duckling ears of the Psychologist. His favourite non-couple had arrived; and somehow they were supposed to leave his office in an hour with a plan to be the hottest couple in the public eye. This little black duck's goose was cooked.

"Mornin' Sweets!" announced Booth as he strode through the door. It wasn't a greeting, it was an announcement; Sweets could tell the difference. He had two PhD's, a stress-related patch of alopecia on his head the size of a quarter, and a shit load of student loans to prove it.

Dr. Brennan on the other hand was a walking contradiction as she entered the office. Looking every inch the poster girl for lush femininity, albeit one cut and pasted from the annals of the off-topic posting section _(read: women) _at the _Call of Duty_ fanboy forum; her expression and body language were subdued, almost guarded today.

As Sweets returned the customary greetings to Booth and Brennan, he privately conceded that he'd probably picked the wrong week to give up Skittles.

Sweets uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair, his fingers assumed their odd diamond shaped _pose of poise_; the one that made Booth think of nursery rhymes involving _'churches and steeples and all the peeples'_, and Brennan ponder whether the rotation and curvature of his fifth phalanges were an indicator of Marfan's Syndrome.

.

"So, I've been briefed by Deputy Director Hacker about the requirement for your undercover assignment," began Sweets.

"That must have been fun," said Booth snarkily. Sweets didn't miss the smirk that flashed over Dr. Brennan's face, or the way that she rubbed at the knuckles of her right hand.

Sweets pushed on. "Let's begin with a background discussion. The piece by the _National Inquirer_, how did you receive this news?"

"Hacker gave me a copy," replied Brennan.

Booth placed a hand on her forearm. "No, Bones. Sweets means how did you _react_ to the news."

"Oh. I thanked Hacker for bringing it to my attention, and then I called my attorney," she said.

"How about you, Agent Booth?" asked Sweets.

"I got a call from Perotta. She was mightily pissed, with good reason I might add," said Booth.

"And the allegations against Dr. Brennan...how did you feel about them?" probed Sweets.

Booth shifted in his seat and adjusted his Cocky belt buckle. "I knew they were a pile of crap. I was there Sweets...and there was no point getting bent out of shape about it, because Bones doesn't get upset by that stuff."

"That is correct, I don't," chimed in Brennan. "It was a complete fabrication. Absolutely no factual basis."

.

"What about the fact that this destructive fabrication, which paints Dr. Brennan as _'the other woman'_, triggering this entire undercover operation, was due to the machinations of _The Other Woman_ in your own relationship?" said Sweets, air quoting with his fingers.

"You mean Hannah?" asked Brennan, receiving a pleased smile and a nod from Sweets. She took a breath. "Well, then I find myself confused, because Hannah was of the opinion that I was _the other woman_, despite my never having had a sexual relationship with Booth."

"I understand what you're saying, Dr. Brennan," said Sweets. "You've correctly identified the motivator for Hannah's actions. She wanted you to be publicly outed in order for others to perceive you as she does, because your relationship with her lover, Agent Booth, made her feel like the other woman."

.

"Hey, Sweets!" Booth burst out. "I never cheated on Hannah. She was the one with the problem and the past..."

Sweets held up his hands and pinned Booth with a look. "Your fidelity is not in question here, Agent Booth. But you have to consider that when she discovered the depth and intensity of your existing relationship with Dr. Brennan, that she probably felt cheated..." Sweets turned to look at Brennan. "...that she felt like the other woman."

"That's all well and good, but that's what she _'felt'_," said Booth using sarcastic air quotes _(Patent Pending)_. "_Felt_, as in past tense, used to feel, as in it's over! Can we move on?"

"Moving on is not as simple as saying the words, or even taking the steps on the path. Your failed relationship with Hannah is a testament to this; you previously tried to move on from your complicated and unconsummated relationship with Dr. Brennan and also failed."

"So I'm a failure?" said Booth dangerously.

Brennan placed a hand over the fists clenched together in his lap. "You are not a failure, Booth. I was the one that failed you," she said with candour.

"Dr. Brennan is right, and is also wrong. Neither of you have failed, Agent Booth. Both you and Dr. Brennan simply experience great difficulties in adapting to personal change," reasoned Sweets.

.

"You are the Sphinx to my Pyramids," said Brennan with a fond smile.

"Well you are the puck to my hockey stick," said Booth, his fingers curling around hers with a smile, giving them a quick squeeze before she reluctantly reclaimed her hand.

Brennan gave a chuckle. "You are the osteoblast to my osteoclast."

Booth snorted with laughter. "You are the Wonder Woman to my Superman."

.

"Wow!" said Sweets.

"Wow what?" asked Booth.

Sweets sat back in his chair reflecting for a moment and then gestured expansively toward them.

"Your word play is very enlightening..." he waved a finger between them. "Dr. Brennan basically inferred and validated that you both share an inability to adapt to change. Then you, Agent Booth, employed a euphemism for your desire to win the sexual favour of Dr. Brennan, very aggressively I might add. Then Dr. Brennan basically invited you to devour her at a very intimate level. Following which, you, Agent Booth used the super-hero analogy to re-affirm your successful partnership."

Brennan gave an impressed nod and said to Booth. "I'm surprised that he managed to interpret my cellular bone reference."

"Yeah, I know. I had no clue what you were talking about," Booth replied.

.

Sweets held up his iPhone. "I used an App for that one Dr. Brennan. Hey, do you think I could be Batman?" asked the Psychologist, with a wide _'just been to the dentist for a scale and clean' _smile.

"Just back up the Bat-mobile into the Bat Cave there, Boy Wonder and hand over the keys," said Booth.

Sweets rolled his eyes. "Nice, Agent Booth. Now you're implying that I am a young boy with undescended testicles."

"What are you? A walking, talking Phantom Decoder Ring, Sweets? And I seriously don't want to even think about anything in your pants, pal!" Booth said with a shudder.

Brennan looked puzzled. "Now I'm the one who has no idea what you're talking about. How does getting onto Sweet's testicles assist with our Undercover work?"

Booth cringed at the unintended entendre. "Good question, Bones!" he deflected.

.

Sweets gave a sigh and leaned forward in his chair. "The two of you are going to New Orleans tomorrow, posing as yourselves, with a risky fictitious agenda. You have to convince the Press and members of Dr. Brennan's book-buying public that you are essentially the inspiration and a real-life iteration of Kathy and Andy. Have you any idea what a challenge that will be to two people who have made sublimation an art form? Have you even read the steam between those characters?"

"Of course I've read it, Sweets!" said Booth.

"Well, I actually wrote it. So your question is redundant," added Brennan.

The Psychologist ran a hand through his hair, his fingers skimming over his bald alopecia patch. "I'll rephrase my question and exclude my rhetoric. The two of you are only just reestablishing the intimacy that you lost by leaving the country for seven months. I can see that you are more physically comfortable around each other, but I am concerned that this won't be enough. Although you have a great deal of sexual tension in your history, in terms of your ability to relate to the opposite sex, you both have developed the habit of reverting to celibacy, rather than being able to enjoy casual intimacy with other consenting partners."

"We can pull it off Sweets," Booth said. "We've been Undercover as a couple before. It's not as if we're about to do anything stupid."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," said Sweets patiently, deciding it was time to up the ante. "Dr. Brennan, can I ask you when was the last time you actually had sex?"

Brennan automatically looked at her watch, and Booth spluttered, giving her a surreptitious nudge. "Umm...Too long..." she replied stiffly.

"What the Hell, Sweets?" snarled Booth protectively.

"An interesting response from both of you," said Sweets reclining back and resting his arms calmly along the arms of the chair. "Your relationship has changed since you started on the task-force. Dr. Brennan, the rational exacting scientist, has answered a direct question with a non-quantifiable misdirection. Whereas you, Agent Booth, clearly indicated by your personal affront that you in fact know the answer to that question."

.

"Damn it, Bones," said Booth in a resigned tone. "You were right. We can't hide it from Sweets...he's too good at reading us."

"I told you that he would be capable of seeing through my role playing," she said with a shrug. "So shall we tell him this time, or should we more cautious after our past debacle around this subject?"

"Oh, sure. This is totally the right time to keep your therapist in the dark," said Sweets his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Okay then," she said grabbing her bag and preparing to leave.

.

Booth placed a restraining hand on Brennan's shoulder. "No, Temperance. He's just being snippy; probably just needs a packet of Skittles and some chocolate milk. We need to tell Sweets the truth...a _PG_ version of the truth."

Sweets almost had heart failure at Booth's very intimate use of her given name. The Gambler had just pulled an Ace from his sleeve.

.

"Very well," she said shifting slightly in her seat so that their bodies were touching and Booth could feel the tension rolling off her in waves. "Booth and I have decided to cautiously pursue a more intimate relationship, which has been sanctioned by the FBI."

"By cautiously, she means _'taking it slow'_, okay?" added Booth. "This whole thing with Hannah and the _National Inquirer_ was just another reason to keep it that way."

"So you're saying that when Hannah confronted you at your hotel in Chicago, that the two of you _weren't_ in a sexual relationship?" asked Sweets in a tone of disbelief.

"No, we weren't," said Brennan honestly. "Although, we had made a commitment to pursue a relationship at that time. None of our actions or interactions in Hannah's presence suggested otherwise. If I had been having a sexual relationship with Booth at that time, I would have had no qualms about making it evident. I have nothing to hide."

Booth jumped in before she said too much. "Look, Sweets. If you must know, there's another reason. It's Lent...and I'm working through a lot of issues around my faith with my priest, okay?"

Brennan placed a hand over Booth's. "It seems counterintuitive and somewhat archaic, but Booth places great emphasis on his redemption through organised religion. Lent is a redemptive path characterised by prayer, fasting and abstinence. I don't necessarily agree or subscribe to his belief system, but I admire and respect his commitment to it."

"So if Booth has religion, how are you working through the transition, Dr. Brennan?" pressed Sweets.

"I have placed my trust in Booth, in all things. He is the most important person in my life," she said with a vehemence which left Sweets in no doubt of her complete honesty.

.

"Agent Booth. How do you feel about Dr. Brennan making you her touchstone?" asked Sweets, redirecting the conversation.

"I've told her she can touch me anytime, Sweets," replied Booth with a cocky grin.

Brennan pinched one of Booth's cheeks affectionately. "You are so very cocky." She glanced a Sweets with a mischievous glance. "I have reciprocated by offering to be Booth's touchstone, so he can also take the opportunity to also touch me at any time."

"Bones!" said Booth in a show of piety.

.

Sweets shook his head. "I still have concerns that until you begin cohabiting as a couple in every sense of the word that you leave yourselves open to blowing the cover that you have devised. You are walking the line between issues that you want to show to your peers and those that you want to keep between yourselves for the time being. The media are accustomed to Public Relations stunts, they won't be fooled easily. And your fans, Dr. Brennan are going to expect the kind of heat between you and Agent Booth that your books portray."

"I leave much of that heat to be implied by the reader, I find writing graphic sex to be too crass," she explained.

"Which means that your readers, by way of their vivid imaginations are going to expect more than what you describe in your books," said Sweets.

"More?" asked Booth. "What do we have to do, perform _'Page 187'_ in the Crime and Mystery section of Barnes and Noble? I can't confess something like that to my priest, I'll be sent to Hell!"

.

Sweets looked thoughtful for a moment. "All I'm saying is that you need to be prepared to be tested. You will already be undertaking a number of elaborate plans to conduct work for the task-force without attracting attention. People will become suspicious and you will be under scrutiny, night and day. I would like to suggest that you carry a burn phone that I can contact you on, I can monitor the media attention and speculation so that you can prepare your responses in advance."

"Like a heads up?" asked Booth.

"Exactly!" said Sweets.

"Okay, that's kind of creepy, you stalking us on the internet and all. But you've gotta be discreet Sweets!" warned Booth.

"I'm a professional, just like you are," said Sweets. "And there's one other thing..."

"I thought I already told you no about the Batman thing," Booth said with a smirk, making Brennan laugh.

"Ha ha, Agent Booth," said Sweets getting tired. "You haven't been around the Hoover much in the past couple of weeks, but you should seriously consider making yourselves seen as a couple for the rest of the day. You only have to attract the notice of a few people to provide a feasible basis for what will be plastered all over the media tomorrow. That way, if media queries do find themselves at the Hoover, your relationship can be validated."

"You mean like simulating sex in Booth's office in the manner that you and Ms. Wick were doing?" asked Brennan.

Booth almost swallowed his tongue. "I'm not going to bend Bones over my desk, Sweets! So keep your dirty mind to yourself, okay?

Sweets gave an epic eye roll. "You're going to have to keep a lid on that sexual frustration, Agent Booth. I was actually referring to hand holding and perhaps another acceptable Public Display of Affection, such as a goodbye kiss when Dr. Brennan returns to the Lab."

"Okay," said Booth grudgingly. "Are we done?"

"Yes," said Sweets. "I will be in touch.

.

Brennan stood and waited for Booth to move toward the door, she slung an arm around Booth's waist and grabbed his ass as they entered the corridor, giving Sweets a thumbs up as he sat dumbstruck by the display. Those two were complete fools for each other; he hoped that they could handle the emotional learning curve ahead of them.

.

Booth moved Brennan's hand from his ass and took her hand in his as they entered the elevator. A couple of raised brows noted their tangled fingers as they stepped inside. Rumours had run abound following their Chicago task-force clinch on the previous week, and in a building full of investigators, Sweets was right, it wasn't going to take much. Brennan leaned against Booth affectionately and deliberately gave a small smile to one of the Agents from the bullpen on Booth's floor. The Agent had never seen the Anthropologist crack a smile before and quickly came to a logical and slightly erotic conclusion as to what lay behind that smile.

.

The doors to Booth's floor opened and they made their way to his office.

"Nicely done, Bones," said Booth approvingly. "Mitchell, that guy in the lift, is one of the biggest blabbermouths in the Hoover Building. By close of business today, they'll be debating which China patterns were gonna pick out."

"Are you sure we've done enough? Sweets was insistent. I should head back to the Jeffersonian anyway, so it probably would be a good idea to do the goodbye kiss," she said with a hint of a smile.

"Okay. C'mere, Bones!" he said pulling her into a loose embrace and placing a light, very socially acceptable kiss on her lips.

"Is that an FBI regulation goodbye kiss, Booth?" she asked challengingly with her arms looped around his neck. "Where is the rebel kiss that goes along with the loud socks, garish ties, distasteful pens and 'Cocky' belt buckle? The kiss that an alpha male uses to publicly claim a mate as his own."

"You promise not to kick my ass when I say, _'you're mine'_, night and day? When I kiss you in a way doesn't hide the ties that bind us?" he asked.

"For goodbye kisses in public, under the circumstances, I won't kick your ass. Or perhaps you would like to consider Sweets' suggestion?" she said with that quirky grin that said she'd give as good as she got, no matter what. Booth glanced at his desk and started reciting saints.

With Brennan grabbing his tie threateningly, he got to work. As her body landed with a thud against the glass wall of his office, every head turned to see Special Agent Seeley Booth, in the running for luckiest bastard on the planet, as he staked his alpha male claim.


	15. Help!

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 15 - Help**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'Help'_, by The Beatles.

**A/N: Sorry about the delay...it's a work thing - but here is a longer chapter for you. **

**Okay, fasten your seat belts readers - B&B are headed to New Orleans! It's gonna get a little twisty...**

* * *

_Tuesday, March 22nd, 2011 - Washington D.C. (12th Day of Lent)_

The morning dawned freezing cold, as a cold snap descended upon Washington D.C. Unfortunately, for Booth and Brennan that meant an extra-chilly five a.m. wake up call and a pre-booked cab to the airport so that they could be in time for their flight to New Orleans. The unseasonably cold weather had taken its toll on Booth's back. At some point during the night, he had thrown his bedclothes off, exposing his back to the cold air, his half awake groans of discomfort woke Brennan just before the alarm went off. She covered him with her warm blanket and woke him with a hot wheat pack, analgesics and coffee on the stroke of five; telling him to stay in bed for another ten minutes, promising to make any necessary spinal adjustments after he had showered. Booth sleepily professed his undying love for her magic fingers and kind heart, only spoiling the moment slightly by suggesting that to make his life complete, she would look spectacular in a 'Naughty Nurse' outfit.

.

Just over an hour later, they arrived at the departure hall, joining the throngs of humanity escaping the icy clutches of the Nation's Capital that morning. They had checked in online on the previous evening, but had to check their bags through, so they joined the relatively short queue for First Class passengers. With only twenty minutes remaining until their departure gate closed, they were still waiting to check their bags through when a ruckus started at the counter, which appeared to be escalating. Booth took Brennan's hand and badged the half dozen people waiting in front of them to find out what the delay was.

At the counter, a group of airline staff were in a heated discussion with an old guy in a wheelchair. He had his legs amputated above both knees.

Booth badged the airline staff and called for quiet, demanding that the person in charge tell him what the problem was.

The old guy piped up. "These imbeciles changed the aircraft and are refusing to put me on the flight. It's discrimination!" he complained.

"Sir, I promise you we'll get to the bottom of this, but I need to hear the staff explain themselves, okay?" asked Booth.

"Sure thing, knock yourself out, son!" suggested the old guy.

The airline staff said that due to a mechanical failure on the scheduled aircraft they had been forced to replace the service to New Orleans with a replacement aircraft which wouldn't accommodate the old man with his special needs. The seating configuration simply wasn't feasible. Brennan sensibly asked what they would usually do to accommodate a double amputee on this particular aircraft. The Service Manager replied that they would normally put the passenger in First Class, but it was fully booked for this flight. The solution was simple. Brennan and Booth took two seats in Coach and the old guy, who introduced himself as Boonie, was given the First Class seat that he needed.

.

With everything settled and introductions over, they all made their way through to the security checkpoint, where in thanks, Boonie put out a hand to Booth to shake, after taking Brennan's hand and gallantly kissing the back of it, much to her amusement.

"It was the very least that we could do, Boonie," she said, as he took Booth's hand in a firm grip.

"I thought I'd have to pull my own _'badge'_ on them, until you came along, son," said Boonie with a chortle.

"You a retired cop?" asked Booth.

"Nope!" said Boonie, as he unwound the scarf around his neck to reveal his well-worn suit, sporting a light blue ribbon with a five-pointed gold star medal on a green wreath, topped by an eagle. Booth automatically snapped to attention and saluted, even though technically he didn't have to. A couple of armed forces personnel in the security hall queue noted the event followed suit and saluted the man in the wheelchair.

"Is that a _Medal of Honor_?" asked Brennan, her eyes lit up with interest. "I've never had the privilege of meeting a live recipient before."

"Sure is, Sweetheart," said Boonie. "And I've never had the privilege of meeting a live Best-selling author before, so I guess we're even."

.

Booth spoke with the airport security staff, and almost immediately they were being fast-tracked and escorted to their departure gate. As luck would have it, the aircraft passenger loading was delayed when they arrived and Booth went to get Brennan and the War Hero a coffee. They sat in a corner of the departure lounge and chatted with Boonie for a while.

"Where did you serve, son?" asked Boonie, nodding at Booth.

"Gulf, Kosovo, Afghanistan...75th Rangers, 1st Battalion, I was a sniper," said Booth.

"A fellow Ranger, huh? I served in Nam, L company. I was a LURP," said Boonie.

"That's a Long Range Patrol unit," translated Booth for the benefit of Brennan. His cell phone rang and Booth took the call mouthing an apology.

"Which would explain your nickname," she said, continuing the conversation. "Being in the 'boonies' is slang for being a long distance from civilisation, which is where I imagine much of your time in Vietnam was spent."

"You're a regular _walkin' talkin' 'cylopaedia_!" said Boonie smiling broadly. "How'd a super smart lady like you come to meet your husband here?"

"We began working together several years ago, collaborating to solving crimes for the FBI," she replied. "But we're not married..." she ventured.

"Nobody seems to care about making those kind of promises anymore...He'd better pop the question soon, before someone older and wiser guy makes a move on you," said the old soldier, preening and adjusting his tie comically.

Brennan laughed at the old charmer. "I believe that I am already spoken for, Boonie."

"I'm going to see my wife in New Orleans in any case," he said. "My very own Creole Angel...she nursed me back from the brink of death on the Hospital ship, bossed me around until I came to my senses and realised that getting my legs blown off didn't make me less of a man...married me, then bossed me around a whole lot more."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," said Brennan. "She must be looking forward to your return."

He gave a shrug. "I suppose she is. This is going to be my last trip, the quacks only gave me six months...prostate cancer...all going well, I'll be buried next to her for our fiftieth anniversary."

"I am so sorry, I didn't make the connection," apologised Brennan taking the old man's hand sympathetically.

"That's okay, you weren't to know. My Angel and me, we'd been through so much before we got hitched that we just took every new day as an extra lease on life. It turned out to be a good way to make the best of our time," he said with a sad smile.

.

They were interrupted when airline staff came to assist Boonie to board the aircraft and they said farewell, just as Booth finished his call.

"That was the New Orleans field office, they've confirmed that the news is out and we're to expect press at the airport," said Booth after he'd shaken Boonie's hand and given him another salute for good measure. The old soldier could be heard cackling with amusement as the airline staff member wheeled him away.

.

* * *

The flight time was just over three hours, with weather causing the flight to be turbulent and uncomfortable; making any kind of document review or other work nigh on impossible. The cabin staff had valiantly attempted to serve something that could be categorised as breakfast, then followed up the meal with coffee before landing, as their final effort to make the passengers crammed into Coach feel more like humans and less like cattle. A loud complaint emerged from across the aisle in the row behind them.

"You can't seriously expect me to believe that this is coffee, Cherie!" said the voice indignantly. Sure enough, Caroline Julian was on the flight and giving the cabin attendant a spray of her gold label sass and acid. She spotted Booth's head emerge above the headrest of his seat. "Booth! Convince these people! Make an arrest if you have to! To drink this slop would be considered an assault upon my person. It tastes like it was percolated through one of your migraine-inducing socks!" she complained.

.

Booth gave a sigh and got out of his seat to stand in the aisle, where she held out Exhibit A _(a cup allegedly containing coffee)_ in her case for the attempted murder of a Federal Prosecutor. "It's airline coffee, Caroline. They can't just swing through a Starbucks, we're at 38,000 feet!" The aircraft gave a jolt as it hit a patch of turbulence, making Booth stumble against the row of seats and Caroline almost tip the contents of Exhibit A over herself.

The seatbelt light came on with a chime. The Cabin Attendant glanced at Booth. "Sir, you'll have to return to your seat immediately," she said. Caroline looked particularly affronted when the Captain interrupted her planned diatribe to announce that the aircraft would be descending to a lower altitude due to atmospheric conditions. Booth gave a shrugged and gave a gesture that said _'Hey, who am I to argue?'_, and returned to where Brennan was sitting.

.

"Despite your normal reticence in relation to safety restraint devices, it may be advisable for you to fasten your seatbelt, Booth," she advised as he took his seat.

"Hey, there's no way I'm gonna need to jump up and chase down a suspect, Bones. I'm buckling up for the ride. Man, I hate turbulence..." he complained.

"Do you want me to hold your hand?" teased Brennan.

"I never said I was scared, _Mommy_," he shot back with a smile.

"It may be that your acute dislike of turbulence stems from some sort of irrational fear of flying," she said conversationally, as the aircraft lurched.

"I'm more afraid of the fact that you just came out with something that Sweets might say, than turbulence," said Booth, taking her hand anyway.

She gave a chuckle as the aircraft engines throttled back to begin their descent. "We all have bizarre and irrational fears, Booth. For example, I have a mild fear of snakes, which is for some reason disproportionately exacerbated when you are in my vicinity."

.

He was about to retort with an epic recounting of Wonder Woman jumping onto his back, when he felt the world drop out from under him. The lights went out. Everything that wasn't strapped down in the cabin, which was a hell of more than Booth imagined it would be, hit the roof. Screams and a couple of wet-sounding cracks announced that people had also collided with the cabin roof. His subjective experience of mere seconds was dragged and stretched out as he watched the chaos unfold, only tethered to reality by the grip of a smaller hand around his. In the pallid light from the window that even he wasn't brave enough to look out of, he saw that Bones had her eyes clamped shut, her lips were pressed together tightly and her face was turned toward him. She had looked out of the window and seen; seen and comprehended with absolute certainty what was taking place, knowing that there was nothing that could be done.

For some reason, instead of his own life flashing before him in a classic cliché, Booth was torn back to a shared moment with Brennan in Gorgomon's Vault; when he'd spotted the motion sensor trigger and thrown them to the hard ground, his body landing protectively over hers; waiting for the explosion that never came. Waiting for the other shoe of fate to drop, just like they were doing now. She'd asked him back then what difference it had made to react by squeezing his eyes shut. How could he have explained the feeling of being clutched in the talons of fate, to someone who had strongly purported to believe in no such thing?

.

The cacophony of sounds of screaming, crashing detritus and the ominous metallic groaning from the aircraft was suddenly drowned out by the roaring of jet engines as the cockpit team wrested control in their battle with the Laws of Physics. As the aircraft levelled out, gravity reasserted control over the cabin. Loose items that had hit the ceiling of the cabin rained down on the heads of the occupants like a wake-up call from their own mortality. An almost eerie silence came over those in the cabin in the absence of the bellowing bedlam of their collective fall. Soon enough though, sobs and whimpers rose in volume, one of the cabin staff made a brief and harried announcement in a voice devoid of the customary spruiking tone, for everyone to remain in their seats until the Captain advised that it was safe to move.

.

"You okay, Bones?" he asked. She shook her head truthfully, her eyes still closed, replaying the loss of control that the Universe had just thrown at her.

"I find that I now share your dislike of turbulence..." she said absently, as she gathered the courage to open her eyes again.

He gave a wry chuckle and felt the vice-like grip on his hand relax; once released, he pressed it against the side of her face, encouraging her to meet his gaze.

"That wasn't turbulence, but...Scary, huh?" he breathed.

Newly freed from the talons of fate, she felt unaccountably buoyant and a little shaky as the adrenaline dissipated. "We should help the injured, Booth," she announced, indicating that she was re-asserting control and automatically moving past the horror, wanting to do something practical.

"No. Wait. The crew are trained for this...let them do their thing. They'll ask for assistance if it's needed soon enough. Plus we don't know if what just happened, might happen again," he reasoned, as a grim-faced cabin attendant made their way down the aisle.

Brennan glanced up at the ceiling of the cabin, where random overhead lockers hung gaping askew, having vomited their contents over the passengers below. "Any person unrestrained during our rapid descent is likely to have sustained head and/or spinal injuries," she said jerking her face away from his hand, making a move to undo her seatbelt.

"Bones! Stop..." he said sharply, placing a restraining hand over hers. "We need to stay put, a couple hundred people just had the crap scared out of them. It's okay to sit here and be scared too."

She looked at him, her facial expression telling him of her struggle to stomp down on her fear and the effort to suppress an outburst. "I...didn't feel fear,...I felt profound regret...that...this, here today, could have been the sum of us."

He pulled her into an awkward hug, as much as their crammed position and seat belts would permit. "Hey, if today was to be the day I finally get to meet my maker...there's no one else I'd rather check-out with."

She gave a snort of mild amusement as they disentangled themselves from their awkward embrace, then gave him a direct look. "I still maintain that I would willingly die _'for'_ you...Booth, do you think that wanting to die _'with'_ someone is synonymous with the desire to not want to live without them?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do...it's one of those complicated love things. There isn't a lot you can do about it," he said with a smile flashing briefly.

"Perhaps not," she said thoughtfully.

.

They were interrupted by an announcement from the Captain, who informed the passengers that they had been cleared to make an emergency landing in approximately twenty minutes in New Orleans, several people had been seriously injured. The aircraft had also suffered damage to its primary hydraulics systems, secondary systems were on-line, but the descent promised to be bumpy. All non-essential systems including cabin lighting and air-conditioning were being switched off as a precautionary measure. An uncomfortable silence fell over the occupants of the cabin, as the lights went down and the high pitched flow air ceased, only the whining jet engines outside could be heard, echoing their tension.

"That sounds bad," mused Booth, looking worried. "Hey, I've got a question for you..."

"I don't know much about aviation hydraulic systems...but modern aircraft are constructed with multiple redundancies, we should be fine," she said with a skerrick of confidence, taking his hand again and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

He swallowed hard and placed his other hand over hers. "Well, just in case we're not...I wanna ask, I've gotta ask, because I'd seriously regret it if we crashed and burned...will you marry me?" As people around them turned to stare, he didn't care who else heard, just so long as she did.

"I'm glad you asked…" she replied. "Because under the circumstances, I had just considered asking you the same question...will _you_ marry _me_?" she asked with a small curl of a smile on her lips.

.

"Hey, I asked you first...Help me out here," he said, making a couple of their fellow passengers in earshot chuckle.

"Then you should answer first," she retorted applying some obscure logic, placing her other hand over his to make a four-layer handhold.

"It doesn't work that way! Why answer my question with a question? Do you need some time to think about it?" he half-teased. The voice of Caroline Julian could be heard hushing people behind them, because _'this'_ she had to hear.

"No...," she said, ignoring a dozen sharp intakes of breath during her pause. "You know that I don't require time to think about a simple question with a Boolean response."

"You're seriously going to throw logic into this?" he said with a laugh. "Okay, seeing as we're at a stalemate, I'll rephrase. I can't get down on my knees, 'cause we're in Coach and the seatbelt sign is on. I don't have flowers or a ring, and I'm not gonna to add to the stress of today by serenading you."

"I'm glad, and I'm listening..." she said. Her sassy tone raising a couple of guffaws of laughter from their captive audience.

"You're already everything to me...but if you were to agree to be my wife, then I'd have a chance at being happy for the rest of my life, no matter how long we've got left. If we do survive, I want to be there for you, to love you, be infuriated by you, to be around you; maybe even father a few children for you." He paused and freed one of his hands momentarily to swipe away the tears that had rolled out onto her cheeks. "Temperance Brennan, _please_, will you marry me?"

.

She smiled in that delightful combination of knowing and innocence that he loved, and after a few moments gave a rapid series of small but definite nods of agreement. She let go of his hands and slipped both arms around his neck as best she could in their physically restrained position. As they kissed to seal the deal, passengers began asking what she'd said, followed by a second wave of conversation triggered by someone reporting that she'd said _'Yes'_.

A booming voice of complaint came from the row behind them. "Well, that's hearsay...I need more evidence than that! I didn't _hear_ any 'Yes'!" complained Caroline.

* * *

It was lunchtime by the time they'd landed,then been evacuated from the aircraft and processed amongst the sea of emergency vehicles that surrounded the aircraft. Behind a high wire fence, perhaps fifty feet away, the Press practically howled for news as stunned passengers emerged on foot, or even more sensationally, on stretchers escorted by Paramedics in Day-Glo vests. Fortunately for Brennan, Booth, and Caroline, a representative from the FBI field office had badged his way through the throng, driving his Government issue black SUV right onto the airfield.

.

Unfortunately for Boonie, he was one of the poor souls being stretchered into a waiting ambulance. Brennan spotted him and dragged Booth over by the hand to make sure the old veteran was okay. He had small gash on his head that was covered with a makeshift dressing, but his skin looked grey, he had an oxygen mask on and bags of fluid already hooked up to IV lines taped to the translucent skin of his arm. Grabbing his hand and leaning in, she told him that he would be taken care of. Booth reiterated her sentiment. The tough old hero had earned that much.

.

"I think my number is up, kids..." he said to them, his pale blue eyes luminous.

"They'll take good care of you. The doctors gave you six months, remember?" said Brennan hopefully as the Paramedic prepared some more drugs to administer before they could move him.

"Aww, Honey...that was a year ago," he rasped. "Borrowed time..."

"You'll have to borrow a little more time, Boonie," she ordered. "I'm getting married...you're invited," she said with tears running down her face.

"So bossy, just like Layla...," mused the old guy. His eyes flicked to Booth before drifting shut under the influence of the morphine he'd just been given. "Hope you weren't planning on a peaceful life, Son."

.

Booth gently pulled her away as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance, then gathered her into a hug.

"I believe that he is likely to die, Booth," she stated in a wavering voice.

"I know, Bones...but he knows it...and for what it's worth, even if he doesn't make it, he seems to be at peace with it," he said stoically, trying to provide comfort in the midst of chaos.

.

Caroline Julian approached, trailed respectfully by a suspiciously obedient FBI agent that she had probably leashed and muzzled with her _sweet 'n' sour _charms. Booth and Brennan released their embrace and managed to assume the professionally wary distance that they had employed for years, as if that would somehow detract from the fact that they'd just been through possibly the weirdest public proposal ever and agreed to get married.

"Agent Burns here is ready to take us to the Field Office, are you lovebirds ready to leave, or do you me to get someone out here to join y'all in Holy matrimony first? drawled Caroline.

Brennan frowned at Booth. "We haven't even filed for a marriage license; and I'll admit that I wouldn't know how to go about it."

.

Booth's eyebrows shot up, trying to take cover in his hairline. He supposed that he should have known that Bones would fail to see any significance in the concept of a long engagement. She certainly wouldn't be making considerations about cooling off periods or cold feet; they'd made a plan, and clearly busting at the seams with a fizzy mix of love and pragmatism, she moved to action it.

Caroline "Out of towners like you, Cherie, can tie the knot in the State of Louisiana in seventy-two hours...but I can make a call to a Judge that I know and you can be man and wife by sundown, if you're in that much of a hurry."

Brennan looked at Booth and gave a twitch of a smile that warned him of her plan to challenge him. "Can you wait until Friday?" she asked him.

.

The jaw of Agent Burns dropped; he was a huge fan and had been planning on asking out the allegedly open-minded Anthropologist for a drink.

"I can wait as long as you need...weddings don't usually just happen though, people like to plan y'know," said Booth.

"Well, I feel no need to wait. We could have the ceremony on Friday and then fly to New York City for the weekend, seeing as we have to be there on Monday anyway. What do you think?" she asked.

Booth's head was spinning. "I think it's been a Hell of a morning, Bones...and I've gotta tell you, you're blowing my mind here. I'd be happy go through with it, if you're ready, but we've got official and unofficial work coming out of our ears in the next few days."

Brennan gave a shrug of nonchalance. "That won't be an issue; my publisher has already allocated us an assistant to help with our plans. The assistant can make the arrangements on our behalf, providing that Ms Julian is willing to submit our application for a Marriage License with the local authorities."

"Then we should go, Cherie!" ordered Caroline, waving toward the waiting SUV. "The sooner we get into the city, the sooner I can facilitate this breakneck lunacy that's come over you all sudden-like."

.

Seeley Booth wondered if he'd be able to concentrate on anything at all for the remainder of the day…for the remainder of his life. He'd popped the question to the most rational woman on the planet, and she'd exploded like a love grenade.

* * *

A/N: Will they go through with it? Will Boonie live? Will Booth be capable of a coherent sentence on Friday?


	16. Sitting on the Dock of the Bay

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 16 - (Sitting on the) Dock of the Bay**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'(Sitting on the) Dock of the Bay'_, by Otis Reding.

**A/N: Yes, delays there have been…reasons not worth discussing here. A couple of reader questions answered though... **_**Was the proposal real, or just a staged one?**_** Yes, it was real. You can't be serious about B&B getting hitched without **_(insert character's name here) _**being present to witness the event? **_*assumes Hart Hanson-esque pose of sneakiness*_ _**Maybe they will, maybe they won't...it'll happen eventually though. You'll just have to wait and see.**_

**Okay, enough Q&A, on with their first full day in New Orleans - a place that I have yet to visit, so forgive me if I misrepresent the area.**

* * *

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_Wednesday, March 23rd, 2011 - Washington D.C. (13th Day of Lent)_

If the old adage that there is _'no rest for the wicked'_ were true; then Booth and Brennan could be accused of being especially wicked. It would be reasonable to expect that after experiencing the trauma of a mid-air disaster, that a person would be given some time and space to recover, to reflect, maybe even drown their frazzled nerves in a few shots of something from the top shelf... But Booth and Brennan weren't cut a break, even when Dr. Lance Sweets told the SAC of the New Orleans task force team that their flight down from D.C. had been overwhelmingly _'wicked stressful'_. The fact that the Psychologist actually phrased it that way in his recommendation for Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan and Federal Prosector Caroline Julian to be placed on stress leave, effective immediately, and be fully debriefed before being put back into the field, was probably one of the reasons why his request was denied. But there were other factors where the New Orleans SAC was concerned.

Special Agent in Charge James Derulo _(no relation)_ was, by his own admission, a devilishly handsome, career-driven, unapologetic misogynist. What he lacked in investigative skill, he made up for in people skills; meaning that he was a complete and utterly narcissistic bastard, but quite a charming one. Rumour had it, that he had campaigned to have his picture posted against the Urban Dictionary's definition of _'Misogynist'_; he certainly claimed that he had coined their definition, which read: _'A man who hates every bone in a woman's body, except his.'_ Now at the age of forty-three, Derulo had been bucking for an Assistant Director's post for five years, but kept running into something that he privately referred to as the _'bunched-panty line'_. It held some similarities to Booth's famed self-limiting _'line'_, but essentially Derulo's version was based around his frustrations that he was unable to screw his way to the top, thanks to laws designed to protect the American people from assholes just like him. He hadn't met Booth and Brennan on the day that they'd arrived, because he'd sent the out-of-towners almost directly to the swampy bayou crime scenes bordering Lake Cataouatche for the afternoon, and scheduled briefings with the detail orientated folks right up until Dr. Brennan had to leave for her evening book signing. The honour of an introduction would be his, over _'lunch'_ the following day.

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* * *

Brennan had lain awake, troubled by a nagging puzzle in her mind for most of the night. Her three hours of solid sleep had only happened at the insistence of her husband-to-be, the man who was now laid next to her breathing in the heavy dual-toned cadence of deep sleep. Typically, she wasn't concerned about their relationship, or their hurried plans; she was concerned about the case.

There was _something_ that she was missing. Glancing sideways at Booth briefly, she pulled her laptop onto her drawn up knees and decided to review the images of the bones that were trying to convey a message to her again; but this time, she would directly compare the Chicago images too. She sorted the photographs and began with the right tibias and fibulae of all nine victims in no particular order; then she moved on to the images of the left lower limbs and spotted _something_. They knew that the patterns of pre- and peri-mortem restraint all followed a stylised similarity; same positioning of knots, same patterns of bone bruising indicating the trademark brutality of the _No Han Han_; kurf marks from the same type of machete...the slight differences in the marks indicated being wielded by different hands but using a common striking technique, like two disciples of the same martial arts teacher. There was something about the perpetrator of the New Orleans crimes; it showed on the left leg of each of the New Orleans victims. Following anatomical logic, she pulled up the distal radius and ulna of each victim... their right arms, because they had been bound with their arms behind their backs. The person that they were looking for had _something_ wrong with their right arm. The angle and directionality of the force used to apply the restraints was exaggerated, outside that which would be considered a normal range of motion. Now all she had to do was work out what the abnormality belonging to the perpetrator was, so that they could narrow the search.

.

"You're jibber-jabbering again..." muttered Booth sleepily.

She gave a derisive huff of disagreement. "I'm making no noise whatsoever..." she countered indignantly.

"Well, they should make a law against thinking so hard when you're laid in bed," he countered huskily, cracking open an eye. "You've had what...three hours of sleep?"

"Correct," she said, distracted again by the images. She needed to look at the bones, hold them in her hands in a tactile investigation to join the dots. Opening up her e-mail browser, she quickly typed a request to Perotta, asking her to have the left lower leg and right arm bones of their victims priority couriered down from Chicago; copying in the relevant forensic and investigative players to keep the administrative team peace. While Brennan felt this kind of placating gesture to be a complete waste of her time, she recognised that this was one of those occasions where diplomacy was necessary to get what she needed. Observing her colleague Dr. Saroyan had been particularly instructive in this methodology. All going well, the bones would be on her lab table by lunchtime ready for comparison using the most sophisticated tools she knew, her own senses.

.

In a happy coincidence, those very senses alerted her to hot breath on the toenails of her left foot...and then her right one. She glanced at the screen of the laptop, finding the automated sent receipt for her message; so she pushed the screen down to meet the keyboard, knowing that no more pre-breakfast work would be done today.

Booth heard the snick of the laptop being closed from his cocoon of white starched sheet, the diffused light making the feet of his wife-to-be appear even more feminine.

"You stopped working...amazing!" he commented, moving in to kiss her ankles.

"I stopped working because you distracted me...again," she said in mock rebuke.

He had worked his way up to her knees and took a moment to finish peppering her left patella with kisses before he spoke. "Then my work here is done."

"Done?" she asked. "Why do I find myself disappointed by your announcement?"

He grabbed her ankles and hauled her down the mattress as he rose up over her, tenting the sheet over them both. She wore a smug smile and nothing else.

"Can I help you?" she asked, adding a raised brow to her smug smile.

"Yes, you can," he replied. "I'd like to lodge a complaint."

"A complaint? About me working in bed?" she said.

"Yes, specifically, your working in bed _naked_," he said wearing his serious face, and nothing else.

She gave a throaty chuckle that made other parts of him assume a serious pose. "I went to sleep this way, which was entirely due to your intervention I might add!"

"Well, if _'someone'_ hadn't attempted to jump me during the limo ride back from the bookstore, I might have let you keep your clothes on," he argued.

"I highly doubt that," she said, dissolving into laughter as he ducked down and began kissing her left iliac crest, then nibbling his way across her lower abdomen to kiss the other iliac, which made her laugh harder.

.

He looked up and she had raised her arms above her head, raising the sheet, so she could see him. "Keeping an eye on me there?" he asked.

"Can you blame me?" she said laughing, and then stopped as he stared. "What are you staring at?"

"The view," he said leering meaningfully at her breasts, "When you laugh, they jiggle, it's hypnotic...I could sit here and watch them all day."

She crossed her arms over her breasts, the sheet floated down over his head.

"Aww, Bones...that's just mean!" he complained.

She sat up and tossed the sheet back, his face was close to being jammed between her breasts now.

"Okay, I take that back...I'm in guy-heaven again," he said attempting to bury himself, but being stopped by a single knuckle applied to his forehead.

"Ow, ow! Ninja..." he complained.

"We don't have all day," she told him, pushing him back so he sat up in his haunches. "Sweets will be video calling in a half hour."

"Sweets before breakfast...can't be good for you," he said with a grin.

"Ah, but _sex _before breakfast could be..." she suggested with an answering sultry grin.

"Okay, okay..." he said feigning being put upon. "Just try not to scream the place down this time..."

She pulled him down on top of her. "They put us in the Bridal Suite, there are certain clichéd expectations associated with being accommodated here," she said with a laugh. Apparently it was the only suite available when they checked in. Booth's gut said the 'coincidence' had Caroline Julian's prints all over it. His unerringly accurate colon was entirely correct.

"I'll give you expectations!" he growled, pulling their hips together.

.

* * *

As it turned out, they had Sweets over breakfast. Booth was unaccountably happy as he began filling his face, while Sweets chattered away about stressors and delayed reactions and blah and blah...

Brennan had been listening politely whilst dissecting a mango for her consumption. "We were unharmed Dr. Sweets. It was somewhat stressful at the time… However, Booth and I supported each other through the event and the aftermath. You should accept this as an assurance that neither of us are in need of psychological intervention."

"Very well, Dr. Brennan," breathed Sweets knowing that he couldn't win this one over a video link. "But we may have to revisit this issue in the future."

"Whatever, Sweets," said Booth around a mouthful of pancake. "Tell us what the news hounds had to say about us."

"It seems to be mostly accurate coverage...plenty of focus on the fact that you were involved in the mid-air accident and emergency landing. The photos of the two of you from the book promotion and signing were posted on a variety of legitimate news and gossip sites overnight. But there's one report that has created a flurry of excitement."

"Yeah?" asked Booth. "What would that be?"

.

Sweets rolled his eyes and looked apologetic. "It's complete speculation, of course...but that's what sells advertising. There's an interview with _someone_ claiming to be on the flight with you yesterday who says that you proposed marriage to Dr. Brennan following the mid-air incident. The news site claims that a Marriage License was issued by the State of Louisiana in your names yesterday afternoon...I have to admit the facsimile posted with the article looked quite authentic."

Brennan reached for something out of camera range. "It may be a fabrication, but I have the original here if you want to verify the authenticity," she said, holding up the original to the web cam.

"Guys...don't mess with me. I'm on your side, remember?" said Sweets with a disbelieving smile on his face. "I thought that your Undercover brief deliberately wasn't going to include any reference to a long term commitment?"

Booth leaned in behind Brennan, so that Sweets could clearly identify the cocky grin on his face. "Plans change, Sweets. Dr. Temperance Brennan here has kindly agreed to be my wife."

"As soon as possible," chimed in Brennan, waving the license as evidence. "Do you want some more coffee, Booth," she asked as if they were discussing the weather. Booth shook his head in the negative and kissed her neck affectionately.

"You can't go through with it...this is insanity!" said Sweets, his eyes boggling at the physical intimacy playing out on the screen of his laptop. "What about your work, your families, your colleagues, your own child, Agent Booth. Have you even considered how people will react to your sudden marriage?"

"Hey, this is our decision. There's no reason to wait," said Booth taking a seat next to Brennan and piling more food onto his plate.

"With all due respect to you and Dr. Brennan, I believe that you are rushing into this after your recent traumatic experience; your friends and family are likely to feel cheated..." began Sweets.

"Dr. Sweets, we've already made our plans. A small, but select group of people have been invited to attend our nuptials. The assistant allocated by my publisher is making the arrangements...but the details are being kept confidential for obvious reasons," said Brennan patiently. "Our Undercover sessions for today will actually be spent productively, purchasing rings, suitable attire, a modest cake and attending to other tasks that we need to complete prior to Friday...Angela has also provided an astoundingly detailed list to my assistant...it's almost as if she's been planning my wedding for years," she mused.

"But what about Agent Booth's Lent commitment to abstention from sex?" asked Sweets, having no knowledge of their deliberate deception, he was trying to throw every line of reasoning that he could think of at them.

Brennan gave a derisive snort. "Not that I have any frame of reference for the experience of Catholic guilt, but I would imagine that Booth would relish the opportunity to have sexual intercourse that is sanctioned by the church for the first time in his life. I find myself looking forward to sharing guilt-free sex with him."

Sweets pouted and steepled his fingers in thought. "I never considered that perspective Dr. Brennan. I imagine it will be quite a pivotal experience..."

"Sweets," said Booth threateningly around a mouthful of scrambled egg. "_Imagining_ my sex life is not going to get you an invitation to the ceremony, _period_!"

"Wow! I'm invited?" exclaimed Sweets.

Brennan looked over her coffee cup at Booth and raised a brow mischievously. "I'm not sure...Booth? Do you think he'll behave himself?"

"Eh, I don't know Bones...it could be risky business, I thought there was baby duck being served at the reception. Sweets could end up being collateral damage, getting hurt, y'know?" said Booth with a grin.

"Guys...C'mon. That's just mean!" complained Sweets.

Brennan held up a finger. "The ceremony is on Friday, so no meat, remember?" she said with a smile then let out a raucous chuckle. "You still get to have sex though..."

"Bones!" said Booth horrified. "Don't encourage Sweets to talk about sex...we've barely moved past his Batman fixation." He paused in mock thought. "We should let the kid come along though..."

"Totally awesome!" exclaimed Sweets with a fist-pump.

"Okay, now you're putting me off my breakfast, goodbye, Sweets!" Booth shut the lid of the laptop cutting the Psychologist off.

.

"That _'was'_ mean, Booth!" chastised Brennan, popping a strawberry in her mouth.

"Not as mean as you using your hand under the table like that, when I'm _'trying' _to have a conversation!" complained Booth. He snatched the strawberry from her hand and used his lips to exact revenge.

.

* * *

Shortly after 8:00 a.m., the couple were ferried to the underground parking garage of the hotel and whisked off to the FBI for a taskforce session. The New Orleans team was smaller in size than the Chicago group, but they were enthusiastic, and their SAC, James Derulo was effusive in praising _'his'_ team. An overview of the known facts surrounding the _No Han Han's_ four victims was given by members of the team who were only ever referred to by their first names. Brennan was becoming frustrated that she didn't yet have a grasp on the roles and qualifications of the team. When the bones arrived from Chicago, she wanted to have resources at her disposal to move the casework forward.

SAC Derulo joined his two _'out-of-towners'_ when they broke for coffee around 10:00 a.m. The SAC shook Booth's hand and slapped him on the back in an overly familiar manner before he turned his charms on the beautiful scientist.

"Welcome, Temperance!" said Derulo, with a toothy grin extending a hand in a gesture that indicated that he wanted to take her hand and kiss it. Brennan raised a brow and thrust her hand out in an almost masculine gesture, forcing the SAC to shake hands.

"I would appreciate it if you would address me as Dr. Brennan, Special Agent in Charge Derulo," she said evenly. Booth swallowed hard, knowing Bones was a hair away from kicking the SAC's ass.

Derulo breezed on, as if Brennan had just blushed and simpered at him. "I'm delighted to be escorting y'all to a fine luncheon in our fair city. I'd be honoured to show you some sights of our fair French Quarter while you browse for those purchases that are supposed to be keepin' the media amused..."

"That won't be necessary," said Brennan shortly. "I have spent extended periods working in and around New Orleans, particularly during the period following Hurricane Katrina. Booth and I will not require a chaperone."

"I see," said Derulo, clearly put out by her put down.

.

* * *

Lunch turned out to be an unmitigated disaster. The press had received a tip off that they would be shopping for wedding rings, and Derulo had changed the lunch reservations to a restaurant that was a carnivore's paradise. This ruined the original plan of their being photographed over a long leisurely lunch on a balcony in Canal Street, seen to be just relaxing and watching the world go by. By the time Brennan had picked her way through a wilted salad and French fries stolen from Booth's plate, she was fit to be tied. Derulo learned over lunch that the wedding plans were fact, not fiction and attempted to invite himself along, which only made Brennan mentally incite violent plans for the annoying man. When Derulo began a misogynistic commentary on what real men like Booth, and himself of course, had to offer smart and beautiful women like Temperance Brennan; it was time to leave.

.

Brennan had an appointment with some bones at 3:30 p.m., which gave them a little over two hours to find some rings and choose a wedding cake. It was a tall order, but Brennan asserted that she was up for the challenge. Booth, still missing his pie fix, suggested cake first, because he was craving something sweet. They joined hands and strolled in the direction of the cake shop that their assistant had directed them to. Booth noted that they were being trailed by photographers with telephoto lenses.

When they arrived at the cake shop there were news cameras and reporters waiting for them, all clamouring for an exclusive. After answering a couple of questions..._Yes_, they were getting married..._No_, DJ Sparky would not be attending, but his fiancée might..._No_, the ceremony would be a private event..._Yes_, they would go on Honeymoon, but the date and location was not going to be made public..._Yes_, they both liked cake...(although Brennan failed to see any relevance in the final question).

.

In order to choose which news agency would get the exclusive right to accompany them into the cake shop, Brennan asked a college level forensic science question, whoever answered the question got to try cake with them and ask a few questions. Reporters scrambled for smart phones and iPhone Apps, but one reporter, who had worked for National Geographic magazine for five years prior to falling on hard times during the GFC, sang out the answer straight from his own grey matter. Brennan shook his hand in approval, and Booth opened the door to the cake shop.

The same process was used at the Jewelers, except that in fairness to the journalists gathered, Booth asked a classic rock quiz question to choose who got the first exclusive shots of the rings, but the actual choosing was to be done in private. That decision turned out to be fortuitous. The selection of cake had only taken twenty minutes; but for reasons that they hadn't anticipated, choosing what were objectively just two bands of metal was inordinately difficult. Light bickering turned to heavy discussion over trays of gold, silver and platinum rings that would represent an enduring hope for thirty, forty, or fifty years of their collective future. The symbolism, the consequences and the circumstances of the past few days, and the past few weeks slammed home:

Were they truly ready to step forward into the uncharted realms of eventually?

Was Sweets right when he said that they were rushing things?

Were they correct in thinking that nothing would change, that everything would stay the same?

.

Low on time and high on emotion, they retreated to their opposite corners to think on things for a few hours; Brennan over a table full of bones within the House of Reason, and Booth over his mortal soul within the House of God.

* * *

**A/N: More to come soon...**


	17. Layla

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 16 - Layla**

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own 'Layla', by Derek and the Dominos

**A/N: I agonised a little over this chapter...but it finally came together. When I edited, I got a little misty-eyed - that constitutes a Kleenex warning - but there are some lighter moments too. Thank you all for your support and encouragement. The reviews and PM's have been wonderful! Happy Australia Day! This one goes out to all the Aussies out there!**

* * *

Thursday 24th March 2011 - New Orleans (14th Day of Lent)

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Following their bizarre failure to agree on an issue as simple as wedding rings, Booth and Brennan had headed on separate paths for the afternoon. The media had been told that they were going for fittings of the outfits that they would be wearing at their wedding on Friday, when in fact the tailors had come to their hotel suite that evening. Booth had selected a charcoal three-piece morning suit and Brennan would be wearing a simple off the shoulder ivory Vera Wang gown.

Brennan had spent the previous afternoon with the local squints and the bones that had been shipped from Chicago. Her direct examination of the evidence, both to the naked eye and under magnification was conclusive; modelling of the lines of force used to restrain the four New Orleans victims, the same anomaly was present, something about the right arm of the perpetrator was abnormal. The amount of force being applied was within the normal range for an adult male, suggesting that there was a deformity, but limited loss of functionality. Frustrated, she resolved herself to this being one of those scenarios where the pieces of the puzzle would fall together on a timeline of its own. Mentally reviewing her schedule she decided that she would forego her breakfast meeting with Booth and Sweets and return early to the temporary lab and review the evidence again. Glancing at her watch she had realised that she needed to return to the hotel if she was going to ready in time to meet Vera Wang and her Vera Wang dress.

Brennan smiled to herself. When she had mentioned to Angela that the designer would be flying down from New York in person with her BFF's wedding dress, the Artist had given a yip of surprise and declared that she was going to give birth to kittens. For some reason, the implausible hyperbole around her best friend birthing anything other than a human baby was something that she found immensely amusing.

.

* * *

Back at the lab super-early the following morning, leaving breakfast, a sleeping Booth, and the opportunity for some energetic morning glory sex behind; she had donned her white lab coat and blue nitrile gloves and set about a methodical review of her findings. An hour and a half later, she was dictating additional commentary into her digital voice recorder as her mind began scrolling through the possibilities when her cell phone rang, she paused the recording and removed the glove from her right hand, taking the call.

It was Booth. He had dropped by the hospital to visit Boonie after going to an early Mass and confession. The old priest had been approving of Booth's commitment to address his burden of guilt and sin prior to entering into Holy Matrimony, and gave the visiting confessor a small book of readings to be reflected upon in spiritual preparation for the time of marriage.

Booth told Brennan that the doctors had said Boonie's family were on their way from D.C.; things didn't look good and the old veteran was on his last legs. Brennan was just about to make a retort about the fact that Boonie, as a double amputee, technically didn't have any legs, when she had an epiphany. Telling Booth that she would meet him at the hospital, she hung up.

.

She stripped off her remaining glove and tossed it in the trash, then instructed the lab assistant who had pulled the short straw for the early shift to pack up the bones. Brennan washed her hands and took a calming breath before placing a call to SAC Derulo. After three rings, he picked up.

His drawling greeting set her teeth on edge. "James Derulo, at your service." His tone conveyed innuendo bordering on sleaze, as if he were naked, in bed, waiting for her. It was just after 6:30 a.m., so her assessment was accurate. With Derulo's lack of a date, inflatable or otherwise, in his bed, and the voice of a woman with double-D's on the other end of the line; predictably he put the hand not holding his cell phone to work.

"This is Dr. Temperance Brennan, my services are currently at the disposal of the task force," she said.

"Mmm...a fact that I am particularly delighted about, my dear Doctor," said Derulo, in the key of creepy as he imagined his right hand to be hers.

"I am not _'your dear'_ anything, Mr. Derulo, but I don't have time to reiterate our earlier discussion on appropriate forms of address," she said shortly. "The purpose of my call is to inform you of a new development. As the Lead in New Orleans, I thought it was appropriate that I call you first, despite the early hour."

"Your consideration is noted and appreciated, Dr. Brennan," he said suppressing a hiss as his balls twitched. _'...and fuelling my morning sex fantasy...thank you Ma'am'_ he thought, gripping himself tighter.

"If you recall our brief conversation last night, the comparative analysis of the bones subject to trauma from being violently restrained indicated that that the perpetrator had a physiological anomaly of his right arm," she recounted patiently.

"How could I forget..." he said, half-sarcasm, half-serious. The minute following that call had been the best minute he'd had alone with himself this month.

"I have identified the source of that anomaly, which I believe will significantly narrow the search for the perpetrator. You are looking for a short statured male, of medium build, 160 to 170 centimetres in height, with a right upper limb amputation at the wrist or mid-forearm. Given that all four victims here are female with signs of prolonged abuse, I would postulate that this man wears some sort of crude prosthetic device, such as a hook which would also explain the patterns of bone bruising found on the ribs of the victims..." she heard a small grunt and a gasp and paused. "Are you listening to me?"

"Aah! Of course...you have my full attention," he said.

"That much is clear," she said becoming impatient as she heard noises in the background and realised what he was doing. "Your one-sided attempt to have phone-sex with me is something that I find highly inappropriate...in fact, the only fantasy that I can think of in response to your actions relates to a fervent wish to amputate your right hand. Good bye, Mr. Derulo."

Derulo tossed his cell phone between his legs with a growl of frustration. But on a happier note, she had said the words _'sex'_ and _'fantasy'_ in the same sentence; the words echoing in his mind providing enough fuel in his dark misogynistic core to continue on his morning quest of _'Ridin' Solo'_.

.

* * *

Brennan caught a cab to the hospital and made her way up to the fourth floor where the Coronary Care Unit was located. Knowing that Booth would have turned off his cell phone due to the strict hospital policy in this area, she reached into her pocket and turned off her own phone as she approached the reception desk to enquire where Mr. Murphy was located. She was directed to room 409, finding Booth sat next to Boonie's hospital bed, telling the old guy a Ranger joke about a camel, a donkey and an insurgent walking into a bar. Brennan had no idea why this scenario would ever come about, given that none of them would drink alcohol, but she stood in the doorway and let Booth finish the telling.

.

Her eyes scanned the X-ray images of CT slices scrolling through on the screen to the right of the bed. The poor man was riddled with bone metastases, she surmised that he must be in incredible pain. Judging by the indicators of bone density and muscle attachments on his femurs, Boonie had been walking around using prosthetic legs until recently. Destruction of his acetabular and sacral bones by secondary cancers had clearly forced the transition to a wheelchair. Boonie noticed her presence as he laughed raucously at the joke then winced in pain.

"Are you going to keep reading my bones, or are you going to come over here and give an old dying Irishman a kiss?" asked Boonie.

Brennan gave the old man a fond smile and made a show of elbowing Booth out the way to in a show of eagerness to kiss him. Booth gave a snort of protest.

"Aww, c'mon Sarge," complained Boonie with a chuckle. "You get to marry her tomorrow...give a guy an opportunity to remind her what she's giving up!"

Booth pulled her back in mock posessiveness to sit on his lap, and she kissed him affectionately. "I missed you this morning," she told him.

"Not as much as I did..." said Booth.

.

Boonie interrupted. "Sorry to break up the love-fest, kids, but I asked you here for a reason...that invitation to your wedding tomorrow...I'm regretfully declining. I hope you understand. I wanted to be there, but my heart has given out."

"I know," said Brennan, reaching out to take the old man's hand.

"You'll be there in spirit," said Booth.

"Ha!" said Boonie. "I could be standing in Judgement for a while."

"I doubt that," said Booth with a grin.

.

Boonie gave a sigh and shifted his numb rump against the hard mattress. "Look. I'm generally not the kind of man who makes rash decisions," he waved his free hand at his legs. "I learned the hard way about the consequences of that back in Nam. But when you're stuck in a hospital bed, with nothin' much else to do than sleep, watch TV, and check out the nurses, I got to thinking about you two and the kindness you showed me. Plus you're on TV a hell of a lot at the moment. I got to some more thinking when I saw you walked out of that jewellery store without making a purchase last night. Some reporter made a snide comment about cold feet and said you were just grandstanding to sell books..."

"Typical," growled Booth.

Boonie continued on. "I've got a favour to ask of the two of you...and a wedding gift. It's in the box on the cabinet there, Temperance, can you grab it and open it up?"

"Of course," she answered and took the box with seal in her hands and she knew what was inside. His Medal of Honor.

"There's my medal in that box. And your wedding gift too if you'll accept it...don't say anything yet...let me tell you the story before you decide," said the old hero.

"Okay," said Booth opening the box which had his medal and a pair of antique Claddagh rings.

"That medal, I want you to make sure it goes to a museum, no bargaining, no back room deals. My daughter is a tree-hugging pacifist, and I love her just as much as Layla did, maybe more...but she doesn't think about war and patriotism and honour; not like I do. So the favour I'm asking of you is to help honour the memory of the battle that medal represents, remember the guys that didn't make it home, remember the guys like me who came home changed, and the guys that couldn't deal and died in a bottle or on the end of a needle. Will you do that for me?"

"I'll take care of it personally...you have my word," said Brennan without hesitation.

Boonie smiled at her fondly and took her hand and kissed it. "I had a feeling that you would, Honey."

.

Booth took the antique rings out of the box and held them out in his palm to show to Brennan. She made a small sound which conveyed awe and joy and recognition all rolled into one.

"These belong to you, and to Layla?" she asked.

"That's right...and before that, to my Grandparents, and before that to their Grandparents. My daughter has the ones that belonged to my parents, but she can't have kids...tried for twenty years, never wanted to adopt...if I give these rings to her, it will cause her pain, more than my passing ever will. So I want you to have them. Grandpa's ring is older, comes from the Irish fishing village our family hailed from; in the old days, the rings were only made for men. Granny's ring is from the mid 1800's, when it got fashionable to make Claddaghs for ladies...it's still from the old country though. I know that you're not family, but the two of you kind of remind me of Layla and me. After Vietnam, Layla was one of the best Orthopaedic nurses in America, worked at Bethesda. Helped thousands of people heal their broken bones. Her splints and casts were the stuff of legend, before all those new-fangled pins and nails and plates were invented. Grunts called her the Bone Lady; used to ask her to sign their casts, even though they'd risk getting written up for it."

"This is an incredible gesture...are you sure?" asked Brennan, glancing at Booth meaningfully, by this time quite teary. It put an end to the futile bickering over their choice of rings by presenting them with such a meaningful symbol of tradition and history; appealing to both of their sensibilities. In a way, these antique heirlooms that had stood the test of time, provided an apt balance to their almost rash decision to get married immediately.

"I'm sure," replied Boonie. "When I saw the coverage on TV about you two, I knew. You're the Hero and the Bone Lady, it makes sense. And I won't have time to change my mind. Will you accept my gift?" he asked.

"We'll accept your gift, Sir. It would be an honour to take on your family tradition," said Booth holding out a hand to shake. Boonie gripped his hand and shook it.

"Oh, it ain't that grand a gesture," he dissembled. "You're just easing the worried mind of an old man. Now do me one last favour before you head on out to catch bad guys...put 'em on and model 'em for me? Try 'em on for size?" asked Boonie with a grin.

.

They took the rings in silence. In a muted wedding rehearsal, each took the ring belonging to the other and placed it on the appropriate finger, before presenting their hands for inspection. While Boonie put his glasses on and made a closer inspection, Brennan and Booth just gazed at each other. They were really going to do this. If the right people had been in the room, they would have said the words there and then.

"Not a perfect fit, but you'll grow into them when you've made a couple of babies and had a few years of good cooking," observed Boonie.

"I make excellent Macaroni and Cheese," said Brennan with a smile.

"She's right, it's awesome. I think I could marry Bones just for her Mac 'n' Cheese!" Booth announced with a chuckle.

.

Boonie released their hands and feigned interest in the dinner menu that had been placed on his bedside table, in an attempt to hide his tears as they placed the rings back into the box with the medal.

"Gah! Hospital food. They never serve what they advertise. Dinner is a choice of cold meat and salad, or Creole Chicken and Rice. Rabbit food, or a poor man's attempt at Layla's signature dish. I don't think I'll have either of them," decided Boonie in a cranky tone.

"You should rest...and eat, Boonie," said Brennan.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll snooze on it before my nurse comes in to give me a sponge bath to get me presentable for my family when they get here. Y'know, I hope I get a female nurse today...I don't have an issue with the male nurses, but it sure adds to the happy factor!" Boonie said with a waggle of his brows.

"Okay, we'll get out of here and let you rest, catch up with your family," said Booth. "Tell your daughter we'll be in touch...and thanks for the gift...I can't find any words at the moment."

Brennan leaned in and kissed Boonie on the cheek. "Thank you. The rings are perfect. I promise that we'll take good care of them, and each other. Now behave for the nurses, and order your dinner, soldier!"

"Gotta love that bossy streak, huh Sarge?" said Boonie as the couple joined hands and headed for the door.

"Yup!" agreed Booth. "Plus she always manages to find the right words...another reason to marry her."

.

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a rush of bones and BOLO's and hooks and potential suspects. By the time their late afternoon TV interview and an evening book signing session was over, they were both worn out, but anticipating the very special day that would dawn tomorrow.

As Brennan was having a brief discussion with her assistant, who was now seriously considering a more lucrative career as a wedding planner, Booth's cell phone rang. Glancing over in his direction Brennan saw him snap his cell phone closed, and seeing the flash of pain cross his face, she excused herself. Booth shook his head slowly. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.

"Boonie didn't eat any dinner, did he?" she asked.

"The man didn't like hospital food. He found a way out," he replied.

"He was a brave man. He knew," she said with a sob.

He hugged her tight and bit back his tears. "I know, Bones. I know."

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be happier...I promise...they're actually getting married!


	18. A Day in the Life

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 17 - A Day in the Life**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. Nor do I own 'A Day in the Life', by The Beatles _(although listening on Sennerheiser headphones to this music and the voices of Lennon and McCartney is a surreal experience that I highly recommend)._

**A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!...Wedding chapter...a coinkidink? I think not! There has been **_**'waaaay' **_**too much going on in RL recently. Now that my other story, **_**'Progeny'**_** is done, I have more time to spend on this project again. This chapter does make reference to 6x13 - not enough to spoil, but just so you're aware before reading. Thanks for your patience. Lori, this slice of 'Pie' is for you, Cherie :D**

* * *

.

_Friday, 25th March, 2011 - New Orleans (15th Day of Lent - The Annunciation of the Lord)_

The day dawned cool and foggy, but according to the forecasted promises on the news, all would become clear and the predicted morning rains would present the fresh face of the Big Easy to the World; forming a backdrop to the event that so many people had been waiting for. A couple of hours after the sun had taken the opportunity to burn off the fog, the rain clouds rolled in and hosed off the airport runway in preparation for the arrival of a chartered flight of guests.

Despite the early hour of their departure from D.C., the cabin of the Gulfstream 650, popularly referred to as a _'G6'_, was full of lively conversation and laughter. There had been no question that the newest acquisition of the Cantilever Group would be seconded for the purpose of bringing the _'family'_ to New Orleans. With the golden morning light shining in through the port side windows at 42,000 feet, the G6 was in fast cruise mode, speeding along at Mach 0.9, or around six hundred miles per hour.

Hank Booth's heart had swelled with pride at the number of folks who had just dropped everything to come along for this special event. Knowing that Shrimp had finally gotten his head around the concept that women weren't going to simply fall at his feet whenever he put his heart on the line, was a great source of comfort for the old man. A couple of months ago, they had sat together sharing an illicit hip flask of whiskey and smoking equally illicit cigars in the gardens of the retirement home, following the departure of Hannah; with Hank affectionately calling bullshit on his grandson's self-pitying laments of not being good enough, and his half-hearted determination to become a confirmed bachelor. The hearts and minds of people were not a commodity that could be gambled with, although Hank conceded that people still took the risk and hoped to stack the odds in their favour when it came to the whole marriage proposal thing. Hank would never tell his grandson about the early morning visit from Temperance on the very next day, sharing coffee and muffins instead of booze and cigars; she had been just as distressed, and reluctantly half-determined to take a step back from their emotional connection that fuelled the disaster that had knocked his grandson to the ground, and kicked him in the guts for good measure. The old man had also called bullshit on her fatalistic conclusion that all was lost. Shrimp still wanted her around didn't he? They still had their amazing partnership didn't they? His grandson would come around after he'd had a chance to lick his wounds. Pops was a wise man.

.

Glancing over the aisle of the aircraft at his other grandson and his beautiful lady, Hank considered that Jared had things a little easier, being attracted to women who were the marrying type and all. The rivalry between his grandsons had always been based around their diametrically opposed, and equally stubborn, approach to life and love in general.

Jack Hodgins was providing in-flight entertainment for Hayley and Emma Hollister, along with Parker Booth, citing gross anecdotes from the annals of bugs and slime; perfectly pitched for consumption by impressionable pre-pubescents. As Angela made groans of complaint and pantomimed barfing into her airsickness bag at regular intervals, her own heart was full of love and hope. Her best-friend had finally found happiness and was making it official. Her husband was going to be the best father on the planet; a fact that was joyfully reinforced by each juvenile laugh, giggle, squeal and exclamation indicating a successful _'gross-out'_ being elicited from the kids.

Rebecca Stinson had been persuaded personally by Brennan to attend the wedding, she knew how much Seeley had been hurting recently, via some candid conversations with Parker. Her son had been so concerned about his Dad; then ecstatically happy a couple of weeks earlier after returning from the Jeffersonian Science Fair, Parker announced that Bones was Seeley's girlfriend. Their rapid decision to marry was explained by Temperance over the phone, including reference to the importance of marriage to her ex, and acknowledgement of how his perceived relationship failures over the years had caused him great pain. Their marriage was as much about healing as it was about commitment. After agreeing to attend, along with Parker, Rebecca had shed some tears of regret and considered that Temperance Brennan was a truly remarkable individual.

Max Keenan was debating the merits of Psychological intervention in the criminal justice system with Russ, Amy, Daisy, and a scandalised Lance Sweets. The old crook was winding the kid up and suggesting that unless a head-shrinker had spent time actually avoiding the _'joys of sodomy'_, there was no way that Inmate-Shrink _'empathy'_ was gonna happen. Daisy, Russ and Amy dissolved into gales of laughter as Max regaled Sweets with prison bathroom analogies that ranged from the comical to the downright distasteful. Even Sweets began laughing, as he realised that the twisted fun and games indicated just how happy Dr. Brennan's father was.

Wendell Bray was chatting with Cam and her partner, Paul. Dr. Clark Edison was covering at the Jeffersonian and Fisher had also stayed behind, expressing an aversion to flying, getting _slizzered_, or being associated with good times as hip as being _'like a G6'_. It was Wendell's first trip to Louisiana, his first trip on a private jet; and until a couple of days previously, his first inkling that Doctor B and his ice hockey team mate actually _'had'_ something going on. Angela had promised them all that they would be completely blown away by what she had cooked up for the rushed nuptials, even down to dealing with the baying Press. Knowing Angela, Wendell was satisfied that this was exactly the kind of promise that the Artist delivered on.

.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peyton Perotta stepped off the early flight from Chicago with her fiancé, Mark. They were mobbed by Press all the way from the Arrivals gate to the stretch limousine that awaited them beside the sidewalk of the loading zone outside. Mark politely stopped to sign autographs and have photos taken with the hard core 'DJ Sparky' fans who had been successful in blogging and Twittering his movements to achieve the pay-off of meeting their idol. Perotta stayed out of the limelight; assuming her FBI stance, most people, the press included, simply assumed that she was part of his security detail. Wearing a small professional smile and glancing down at the bling on her left hand, she watched the man that she loved in his element.

If Perotta had not been dazzled by the sparkle of a two carat rock at that very moment, she would have spotted the blonde, khaki-clad woman who had been stalking _'DJ Sparky'_ on _Bing_ in order to get a bead on Seeley and Temperance. Having tried and failed to make contact using established or official channels, she had taken a flight from Kabul back to the States, to let them know that they were making a mistake. She loved Seeley. They were right for each other. Temperance had clearly been coaxed, or impressionably deluded into giving Seeley what he wanted. Hannah felt responsible that she'd left behind a mess for Temperance to deal with. A marriage license wasn't going to make him happy; she was. Hopefully, she wasn't too late to make them see that.

.

* * *

Seeley Booth was running late. He'd awoken with a start, when his cell phone buzzed with a text message, from a dream of smoking a cigar in his bath while looking at wedding photos. He had dozed back off to sleep after his wife-to-be had awoken him very early, for his _'last ever sinful sexual encounter'_. It had been carnally wicked enough for him to beg her in jest to call the wedding off, and NOT to write it in her next book, because the World simply wasn't ready for it. She laughed and assured him that this had been nothing compared to the first _'guilt-free'_ session that she had in mind for them later on; kissing him chastely, she made her way to the bathroom promising to see him later.

Stumbling out of bed, he brushed his teeth, raked a comb across his hair, slapped a baseball cap on his head to mislead the prying eyes of the Press, grabbed a jacket and hurried down to the hotel lobby. The Concierge hailed him a cab and Booth purchased a large cup of coffee with a bagel to go. The cab took him to Confession; he then walked the block and a half to a Barbershop to have his hair cut, musing on the words of the Priest on the way. In response to Booth's words of confession, the Priest assured him that despite all of his past doubts, anger, urges to gamble, and feelings of inadequacy; that the fact that he was getting married today meant that he had officially made the grade, something that he should give thanks for. When the priest asked to see a photo of his bride-to-be, Booth was officially blessed as the luckiest man in New Orleans, possibly on the whole Eastern seaboard.

Taking a seat in the Barber's chair, he took his lucky poker chip from his pocket and pondered the meaning of the reading that the Priest had pressed into his hand as he left the church. A text message announced that the plane from D.C. had landed, followed by another text from Parker telling him that they would be at the hotel soon and asking if he could order Room Service.

.

When he arrived back at the hotel, Caroline Julian was waiting for him in the lobby lounge wearing a grim expression and nursing what looked like a Bloody Mary.

"Come sit, Cher!" she demanded.

Booth took a seat, knowing what was coming next. "You've brought the documents?" he asked calmly.

"Will you be tendering your resignation with the FBI come Monday?" she drawled. "Because you should be..."

"No, Caroline, wasn't planning on it," he replied shortly.

"Do you even know how much money you're marryin' into today?" she asked incredulously. "Hell, if it were legal in the State of Louisiana, _'I'd'_ marry Dr. Brennan...the woman is a catch."

"I'm not marrying Bones for her money. I love her," he said leaning forward in his seat and pinning the Prosecutor with a serious look. He knew that she was pushing his buttons but he had only just come to terms with the reality himself. Brennan had been frank and open with him, telling him that she would rather give her money away than have him worry. He had conceded to her rationality before going on to discuss the issue of their future financial arrangements at length; the details of which were contained in the documents that Caroline had already seen.

Caroline slapped the manilla envelope stuffed with legal documents down on the table. "This isn't your cue to make me cry, Seeley Booth! That time is sunset, with a glass of champagne in my hand, when you exchange rings and vows and such." She took a sip of her drink and muttered to herself. "Cockamamie piss-ant virgin cocktail! What was I thinking!"

"So everything is in order?" asked Booth.

"Completely, Cher. Registered, notarised, stamped and sealed. You're ready...or at least I hope you're ready..." she said flashing him a suspicious glance.

He rolled his eyes at the Prosecutor. "Bones says if all the documents are in order, we're ready legally...all the other _'readiness' _issues have been addressed. We're a team, we pay attention to detail. It's what we do."

"Fine," huffed Caroline. "You don't have to make your case to me...as far as I'm concerned, the two of you should have gotten down to _'this'_ business years ago."

.

* * *

Temperance Brennan had finished up her early conference call with the Chinese authorities at the FBI and hailed a cab to make her way to meet Angela. She arrived at the hotel and made her way to the elevator, checking e-mails on her smart phone, carrying a small bag of accessories. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the elevator car to make her way up to the floor of the hotel suite that had been booked out for the D.C. crowd and was joined by another passenger.

The doors closed and the elevator began moving, then jolted to a halt as the Emergency Stop button was pressed. An alarm bell rang out briefly.

Brennan glanced up, thinking _'Seriously, __'another'__ elevator?'_ and then recognised her fellow passenger.

"Temperance," said Hannah.

"Hannah," replied Brennan bluntly by way of greeting.

"You wouldn't take my calls," complained Hannah.

"My reasons for not doing so were clearly articulated in my recent e-mail to you following the National Inquirer incident," said Brennan. "I fail to see any new evidence supporting an amendment of my stance in relation to the matter."

"Seeley won't take my calls either," said Hannah woefully.

"You really shouldn't be surprised by that either, Hannah," Brennan offered with more grace than she felt. "If you think that I can convince Booth to change his mind, then you are sadly mistaken. He doesn't need old wounds re-opened on the day he gets married."

"You're making a mistake, Temperance...that's why I needed to talk to you, that's what I'm here to tell you," said Hannah, recoiling slightly at the hard icy stare that came over the face of her former friend.

Brennan placed a hand on her hip, quickly losing patience. "I warn you, I am seldom mistaken."

Hannah back-pedalled. "By mistake, I meant that I'm sorry that I left you to pick up the pieces...I left Seeley in a bad way...I didn't mean for you to be tangled in the rebound...I know that he still..."

She was interrupted by Brennan holding up a hand. "Hannah. Stop!" she barked. "Even people as socially awkward as I, have a limit to what they are prepared to hear in this kind of situation. Do I need to tell you that this is also a pivotal day in _'my'_ life? My decisions and rationales are my business, not subject to debate, or to being misconstrued within the framework of your own personal regrets. I told you months ago that Booth would give himself to you completely, and you said that you were serious about your relationship with him. I believed you, Hannah. I trusted you. I wanted Booth to be happy...I still do, I always will. You lied to me. You crushed him. You betrayed us both."

Brennan pushed past Hannah roughly and reset the Emergency Stop, suppressing a sob. The elevator started moving again. She stood with her arms crossed facing the elevator doors, refusing to even acknowledge the blonde woman further.

.

The doors opened to a corridor filled with people, clothes racks and laughter.

Angela Montenegro approached the open elevator doors and threw her arms wide. "Sweetie!" Then she saw the face of her best friend and the pinched face of Hannah Burley, who was stood behind her.

"Seriously? Hannah? What the Hell?" ranted Angela.

"Hannah is just leaving," stated Brennan in a blunt monotone.

"That's right, I am leaving," said Hannah, falling for the Jedi Knight trick.

"You bet your ass you're leaving, Honey!" squawked Angela, pulling Brennan into a hug. "Bren, you go right through those double doors. Everyone is waiting for you. I'll be right back..."

.

Angela pulled Brennan out into the corridor and stepped into the elevator. She jabbed at the button for the ground floor. _"Going down,"_ said Angela in a hard voice that suggested that her statement had absolutely nothing to do with their journey to the hotel lobby and everything to do with violent ends. They rode down together in silence.

Hannah shouldered her bag and followed the Artist out into the busy hotel lobby. Angela gave a snort of frustration, threw her hands up and whirled around to face the reporter.

"Look, Hannah. You have to leave Brennan alone. This is not negotiable, you need to get that into your skull," grated the Artist. "You're a reporter, so let me read the news for you as it stands today. I know the two of you were friends for a while...but she was your friend because she wanted Booth to be happy, even though some days it sucked every ounce of happiness from her. I love Temperance Brennan, she is more than a friend, she's like a sister to me...and despite my being in the family way, don't think for a minute that I would hesitate to jump in to protect her."

"But this has all happened so fast," interjected Hannah. "Seeley is on the rebound...he asked _'me'_ to marry him just weeks ago...I'm not the marrying type, and neither is Temperance. Angela, don't you think they're making a mistake?"

Angela shook her head slowly. "You don't know Booth and Brennan...you may think that you do...but I've known them for years. They are soul-mates. Quirky, adorkable, chalk and cheese soul-mates. You've never really seen them together, Hannah. If you had, perhaps you'd have an idea of what I'm talking about. Brennan uses a lot of Anthropological mumbo jumbo to work around relationships; she never said that she wasn't the marrying type...only that she hadn't ever found enough reasons to marry...big difference. She finally found enough reasons, and you know what Brennan is like when it comes to evidence."

Hannah sighed heavily. "Temperance is seldom mistaken."

Angela gave a small congratulatory and slightly predatory smile. "Now you're on the right page...but you're still worried about Booth's end of the deal, aren't you?"

"I need to be sure, Angela," said Hannah.

"Sure you do, _'seeing is believing,'_ right?" drawled Angela. "Listen, I'm gonna cut you a little slack here...put it down to hormones, and the fact that all my common sense is stuck in my toes where I can't get to it. Poydras Street dock tonight. Be there at 5:45. Keep your distance...I'll be watching you. You need to see them together, Hannah. See that ol' Black Magic that they have, the magic between them that was missing for a while. Then you'll understand why they found their way back to each other. True love."

"Thanks, Angela," said Hannah with a small smile.

Angela held up her index finger. "Nuh uh, don't...thank me. If you come and see this, I guarantee you it's going to smart like a bitch. But do what you gotta do. Now I'm going back upstairs to make some dreams come true. Have a nice life."

Hannah stared at the retreating back of the heavily pregnant Artist, thinking that she was right...but she had to see it for herself.

Seeing Hannah Burley making her way out onto the street as the elevator doors closed, Angela Montenegro knuckled at her lower back as baby Hodgins punched her in the ribs; she muttered to darkly in Hannah's wake. _"Don't let the door hit ya, on the place that God split ya..."_

.

* * *

At 5:30 p.m. Temperance Brennan was sat next to her father, with a delighted smile plastered on her face. Max gave her hand a squeeze and grinned at Emma and Hayley who were sat opposite them wearing smiles that mirrored that of Aunty Temperance.

"Do you feel like a princess?" asked Hayley.

"Yeah, like Cinderella?" chimed in Emma. "With glass slippers and a Fairy Godmother..."

Hayley giggled. "You're going to marry Prince Charming! I wonder if this carriage will go back to being a pumpkin at midnight?" Both girls dissolved into girlish giggles.

Brennan poked her feet out from underneath her gown. "No glass slippers, but the shoes are ridiculously expensive."

Max gave a chuckle and turned to Brennan. "Y'know, Angela is kind of a Fairy Godmother. When she told me we were taking a horse-drawn carriage to the ceremony, I was waiting for her to whip out her wand..._'Alcazam!'_" pantomimed her father, making the girls laugh again.

"It's lovely, although I feel a little sorry for the horses," said Brennan.

"Well, I hear that they had palanquins available, but they were all out of those oiled-up muscle-bound litter bearers...so we had to settle for the horse and cart thing...besides, the horses look well cared for, Tempe. The one on the left has got a huge ass!" he observed, pointing at the Southbound end of the Northbound horse.

Emma gasped and Hayley giggled. "Grandpa Max! You said _'ass'_!"

"Angela wouldn't tell us where we're actually getting married. Should I be concerned Dad?" she asked, as Max chuckled heartily at the scandalised girls.

"Ah, I'm not telling you...Fairy Godmother's orders. You don't want your old man to be turned into a slug now, do you?" he asked with a grin.

"You are required to _'give me away'_, so I can only guarantee your safety until that point," she replied evenly, an evil grin twitching at her lips.

"Spoken like a true Keenan..." he declared, then pointed animatedly. "Look! We're almost there...can you see where we're going to end up?"

Brennan's jaw dropped. "I can see why Ange said that security and media wouldn't be an issue...a paddle steamer on the Mississippi; ingenious!"

"There are a few vultures on the dock," commented Max drily. "Hey! Look, they can see us...they're waving at us from the top deck." Everyone in the carriage waved wildly.

Spotting a figure clad in a waistcoat hanging over the railing and waving back, Brennan found that she suddenly had eyes for nothing else. Her gaze was intent on him and her gloved fingers gripped the side of the carriage until it drew up beside the boat ramp. They exchanged grins.

Whoops and whistles from the small but boisterous group on the top deck greeted her arrival, as did the flashes of cameras belonging to the gathered media. Two burly security guards stood at the bottom of the ramp, preventing members of the Press from boarding. SAC Derulo stood off to one side; clearly there was also an FBI presence on the dock.

The lower decks were already packed with tourists and locals taking an evening dinner cruise down the Mississippi. Faces at the dockside windows watched as Max got out of the carriage and swung Emma and Hayley down to the dock. A crowd of people poured out onto the outer lower decks and looked on, some of them waving at the two girls who were holding hands and staring up with mouths agape at the massive paddle steamer, dressed in matching pale peach gowns.

Hundreds of people began cheering and clapping as Max assisted his daughter out of the carriage, with assistance from one of the footmen. She felt herself flush at the attention, then cautiously lifted the hem of her exquisite Vera Wang dress, with fingers covered with matching opera gloves; delicate hand-painted silk flowers had been woven through her hair pinned up hairdo. Emma passed her a small bouquet of matching silk flowers and she took her father's arm. Glancing back up at the top deck, she noted that Booth had disappeared.

They made their way up the ramp, which was disconnected from the dock seconds after the bridal party set foot on board. Captain Christian, who would be conducting the ceremony, was there to greet her; his First Mate escorted them up to the Promenade deck. A couple of dozen very familiar smiling faces were there to greet her. Angela was already in floods of tears, which were dripping unbidden onto her flowing pale peach gown, she was Matron of Honour for the event. Jack Hodgins supported her, wearing his charcoal three piece suit, ready to stand up beside Booth as Best Man for the occasion.

.

Brennan surveyed the small sea of faces with a wide smile, looking for Booth.

"Looking for someone?" asked Booth from behind her.

She pouted and tossed a glance over shoulder, making their guests chuckle with amusement. "Perhaps," she remarked blithely, and then turned to face him taking his hand. "You look...very presentable. I believe that you are indeed the person that I am looking for," she said, just loudly enough for those gathered to hear.

"Well, you look amazing...and I wanna break tradition and kiss you now, okay?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from hers. She leaned in toward him conspiratorially.

"Tradition be damned, Booth. I concur...so go ahead and kiss me," she encouraged in a loud whisper. Angela snorted with laughter, giving a small squeal of delight that was echoed by Daisy Wick, as Booth grabbed Brennan and swung her into a tango-style dip and kissed her until they were interrupted by the loud horn that signaled their departure from the dock.

.

They joined everyone at the railing and waved to the small mob of media and onlookers who had gathered on the dock below. The Paparazzi crushed forward, pitching one unfortunate reporter into the Mississippi. SAC Derulo kicked off his shoes and ripped off his jacket intending to enact a rescue. He climbed up onto the railing and executed a dive with one and a half twists in the pike position, much to the delight of the gathered media, who captured the entire event for posterity.

"Oh, boy!" said Cam. "I hope they're okay...that was some dive, huh?"

"Yeah," replied Max. "Must've been a woman that fell in...what a show-off!"

Booth leaned in behind Brennan at the railing. "Was that Derulo playing the hero?" he asked.

"It was," she replied. "There was minimal splash on entry to the water, clearly the man is a skilled diver...so much for my desire to drown the man," she stated regretfully.

Booth laughed his ass off.

Brennan had also identified the person in need of rescue and glanced meaningfully at Angela, who smirked. As it turned out, it was Derulo's lucky day; he received enthusiastic thanks for his heroic efforts under a Magnolia tree a short time later.

.

* * *

The riverbank receded and the party moved forward to the stern of the paddle steamer, away from the noise of the massive paddle wheel. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres had been served. Booth and Hodgins were taken to one side by the Captain, who had just arrived. Parker was called over into the huddle. The sky was deepening into golds and deep oranges, which were reflected off the water, casting a surreal light over the party gathered on the Promenade deck. An antique bell, attached to the wall was rung, indicating that everyone should take their positions for the ceremony.

Max strolled over and gathered his daughter into a hug. "Are you ready, Honey?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes. I have memorised my vows, and Angela is here to assist me...I'll be fine, Dad, although irrationally, I find myself uncomfortable being given away. I happen to enjoy the dynamic of our relationship," she said with a low chuckle.

"Ha!" said Max. "You think just because you're all dressed up to get married, that I won't put you over my knee, Tempe?"

She planted a kiss on her father's cheek. "I'd like to see you try...However, I believe that we are here for a wedding, not a spanking. Let's not keep Booth waiting," she suggested.

They strode over arm in arm, followed by Angela, to where Hodgins and Parker were waiting with Booth and the Captain. The sky was turning darker, with deep red tones contrasting the rapidly diminishing sun on the watery horizon.

"Friends and family!" boomed Captain Christian. "Gather around to witness! We have a man and a woman who have come forward to affirm their bond of love and commitment in your presence."

Brennan passed her bouquet to Angela and squeezed her hand hard. A few people chuckled when the Artist's hand was released and she made a show of shaking the circulation back into it with a grimace.

The Captain continued with his speech. "Here before me, in my capacity as Captain of this fine vessel, stand Seeley and Temperance, who wish to marry by the exchange of vows and rings. But before we begin, I ask the person who brings Temperance here today to make themselves known to us."

Max cleared his throat and raised his hand. "That would be me, Captain. Max Keenan, her father...I don't really want to give her away, she's grown on me y'know...but she's a headstrong girl and all..."

Brennan rolled her eyes and the skirt of her gown puffed outward as she aimed a kick at her father, which he dodged before ducking back in to kiss her cheek. "Love you, baby girl," he whispered in her ear. He slugged Booth in the shoulder. "Good luck, G-man!"

Captain Christian gave a wide grin at the antics. "Seeley and Temperance have written their own vows, and for reasons that apparently will become clear to you, translations will be provided by the Best Man, Dr. Jack Hodgins and the Matron of Honour, Angela Montenegro-Hodgins."

Brennan looked sideways at Booth and elbowed him to get his attention. He shrugged and raised his brows. "What does he mean by _'translation'_?" she hissed. "Is this like _'murder'_ translation?"

"Just go with it, Bones," advised Booth. "They're probably just going to heckle us, but if murder _is_ gonna happen, it should be after we get married, right Bug Man?" Hodgins just smirked at them.

"If could ask the bride and groom to face each other and join hands, we can start with Seeley's words," suggested the Captain.

"How come you get to go first?" whispered Brennan loudly.

"What? You wanna toss a coin or something?" mumbled Booth, wary of interrupting the ceremony.

"No gambling, Booth! Fine, you go first," she conceded as they turned to face each other and gripped their hands together.

.

Booth took a breath and began.

"I, Seeley Joseph Booth, Today and always, promise you this;

To love you to the exclusion of all others,

To cherish you and care for you,

To honour your amazing mind,

To welcome any children that we are blessed with,

To be your partner in all things."

.

Hodgins cleared his throat. "Translation is as follows: _From this point forward, the following conditions apply until my life is pronounced extinct, or until all known life ceases to exist upon this planet. I will enter into a monogamous social contract with you, which shall include, but not be limited to; coitus, physical, social and behavioural traits associated with high functioning primates, specifically of the genus Homo sapiens. Every effort will be made to sustain your brain chemistry in a therapeutically euphoric state, wherever practicable. I will defer to truth and reason wherever issues cannot be resolved under the terms of our aforementioned social contract, and occasionally, I will relinquish control of motor vehicles to you as a mark of my respect for you. I will sire your progeny and pledge to perfect the art of said siring under the terms of the contract up to and including the stated limiting conditions. Our existing partnership will be supplanted by a superior iteration, the form and dynamics of which will be developed within in an organic, and where necessary, overlaid by an orgasmic methodological framework_."

.

Pretty much everyone was quaking with laughter, Brennan included.

Captain Christian looked quizzically at Hodgins and commented. "Okaaay, I don't know what that means, but we should probably move on and hear the vows that Temperance has prepared for the occasion." This triggered all round hysterics, even from Booth.

.

Brennan gave a bright smile to Booth, lifted her chin confidently, and began her own vows.

"I, Temperance Brennan, in the presence of all gathered here, pledge the following:

To devote myself to you solely, without fear or reservation.

To share with you, all that I am, and all that I will become, until I cease to exist.

To be tolerant of our differences and accept them with humour.

To bear the joy, burden and responsibility of our future progeny.

To join you on a journey to discover the fundamental dreams, hopes and desires that make us human."

Angela waggled her brows and turned to face the Captain briefly before facing the expectant family and friends. "We don't get out much, Captain Christian, so you may want to brace yourself...Okay, my translation reads: _Booth, if you think you've seen everything I have to offer, you are in for a really big surprise...it's kinda scary, but incredibly hot. What we've got now isn't a patch on what you're gonna wake up to tomorrow, the next day, next week...etcetera...you get the picture? It's turning you on, right? This thing we have between us, the thing called love when all the other synonyms run dry, is going to set the World on fire. You can still make decisions using your psychic gut, I'll still use my supercharged grey matter, and we can bicker over the difference, so long as it ends up in bed...naked...and sweaty. Oh, and while we're on the subject, my best friend and honorary sister, Angela needs playmates for her babies, so get busy, Studly! But most importantly, we're together on this crazy trip called life and there is no one on Earth that I'd rather have riding shotgun with me._"

.

The Captain waited over a minute for the laughter to subside. Brennan had leaned into Booth's chest almost crying with laughter.

"It is time now for the exchange of rings," announced the Captain. "Just in time for a kiss at sunset, unless somebody else wants to try their hand at improv... Who bears the rings?"

Parker stuck up his hand. "That's me! _Lord of the Rings_...", he drawled. Hank Booth cracked up anew and almost dropped his drink. Hodgins leaned in to bump knuckles with Parker. The grinning boy opened a small velvet-lined rosewood box and stepped up between his Dad and Brennan, and held the box steady while they removed the antique Claddagh rings. "You look really pretty, Bones!" he whispered.

"Thank you!" she whispered back.

"The rings have been blessed and are ready to be worn as a symbol of eternal love," said the Captain.

Booth's ever-steady hand pushed the ring on to her finger as he spoke the three symbolic words. "Love. Friendship. Loyalty."

Brennan looked up at him as she slid its mate onto his finger and repeated the words that represented the tradition of the Claddagh. "Love. Friendship. Loyalty."

.

Caroline Julian burst into tears.

Lance Sweets grinned as he was suddenly struck with an idea for a book.

The Second Mate was stood openly checking out Sweets' ass.

.

"Vows and rings have been exchanged," boomed Captain Christian. "By the authority of the State of Louisiana and Maritime Law, I pronounce you man and wife! Congratulations...you may kiss the bride."

Brennan raised a brow at the Captain. "Not if the Bride gets to the Groom first," she announced loudly, pulling her husband in for a passionate smooch as the Promenade deck broke out into loud applause, hollering and whistling. The horn of the Paddle Steamer gave a series of excited toots, and cheers erupted from the decks below.

A green flash of light made everyone simmer down and glance around. Hodgins gave a fist pump. "Green flash, baby!" he yelled in his _'King of the Lab'_ tone. The ensuing ruckus caused the newlyweds to break up their kiss.

.

"What green flash?" asked Booth, turning to shake the hand of the Captain with a broad grin.

"Lucky sunset green flash," announced Captain Christian.

Brennan accepted a kiss from the Captain. "You know that there is a rational scientific explanation for the phenomenon," she said with a smile.

"Of course, a prism-like refraction of sunlight. It occurs frequently over water...but most folks prefer the _'lucky'_ explanation," he explained. "Could I ask the two of you to sign your certificate please, along with your witnesses Dr. and Mrs. Hodgins?"

.

The next hour was spent mingling, taking photos and enjoying the pleasant evening. Dinner was being served shortly in the King's room. Angela suggested that Brennan extract herself from Booth's clutches long enough to toss the bouquet. Daisy Wick gave a squeak and hopped from foot to foot.

Booth leaned in and murmured a suggestion in Brennan's ear. "When you toss that bouquet, could you maybe do it closer to the railing, Bones? If it goes overboard, Daisy might follow it..."

She kissed him affectionately. "I'd have to train another Intern."

"I'd make it worth your while...," he suggested, nibbling at her hairline.

"I love it when you encourage me to be bad...Let me attend to this ritual, Booth," she said. "I have a gift to give you. A private gift, before we go to dinner."

He gave a low laugh. "Hey, I got you a gift too. We can exchange them before we get caught up in the speeches, toasts and dancing stuff."

.

Brennan was dragged away to toss the bouquet, which was snatched from Daisy Wick's nimble fingers by a dirty tackle from none other than Caroline Julian. The Prosecutor brushed herself off and pouted at the outraged Daisy. "You're in the Big Easy now, Cherie...and _nobody_ is gonna get the best of me on my home turf. Are we clear?"

Hank Booth sidled up to his grandson and asked if he could sit next to the eligible sassy lady with the gorgeous curves at dinner.

.

* * *

The newlyweds hung back leaning against the railing, looking down at the massive paddle-wheel churning at the bow of the vessel. They had a few minutes alone before they would be called upon to make an entrance into the reception room that had been prepared for the remainder of the celebrations for the evening.

"Are you happy, Booth?" she asked.

"Yeah. You?" he asked.

"It...feels...almost unreal. I am very, very happy," she replied.

"Here's your gift, Bones," he said, removing an item from his pocket, handing her a heavy tissue wrapped object. His lucky poker chip fell out and bounced on the deck, almost tumbling over the edge. Brennan stomped her foot over the chip, stopping its escape.

She smiled as soon as she felt the weight of the gift in her in her hand. "Oh, Booth...you shouldn't have!" she said with a chuckle, taking a step back before crouching down to pick up the chip and passing it back up to him.

He looked down at her, with her ivory dress pooled around her, eyes bright and a brilliant smile on her face as she removed the tissue paper. Trying the brass knuckles on for size she quipped, "now if only Hacker were here."

Booth pulled her back to her feet and she rummaged in her drawstring purse, removing a box and handing it to him. "For me?" he asked.

"Yes. Open it please. I wanted you to have something that would last for thirty, forty, or fifty years..." she told him as he opened the box and gaped.

"You bought me a Rolex?" he gasped.

"Well, technically, since sunset..._'we'_ bought you a Rolex...not that you were party to the purchase. Will you wear it?" she asked, sounding slightly unsure.

"Every day, Bones. It's not about the money, right?...it's the thought behind the gift." Booth took the watch from the box and put it onto his wrist. "Nice..." he tossed his poker chip in the air and caught it...then just stared at it.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, Temperance...I just realised that everything is right...I don't need _this_ anymore," he told her, holding up the poker chip.

Her brow wrinkled, but she still was smiling as she leaned against him. "You don't? You have carried that totem with you for many years...so now you no longer wish to do so, because I bought you an exorbitantly priced watch?"

"I don't need a lucky poker chip...because I've got you in my life," he replied. "The poker chip has to go...bye bye!" Booth threw the chip overboard into the dark waters of the Mississippi.

* * *

.

A/N: A weighty chapter...sorry, I had to do it justice & make up for my neglect...tell me I'm forgiven?


	19. God Only Knows

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 18 - God Only Knows**

**.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'God Only Knows'_, by The Beach Boys.

**A/N: Hellooooo! The response to my **_**'first ever'**_** attempt at writing a B&B wedding generated wonderful feedback from those readers kind enough to leave a review. I know it was slightly whacky...which probably says more about my take on life than anything else...Hahaha! Well, this is going to be a shorter, more intimate chapter...because, well, it fits the song on the list allocated for this chapter...plus I can't chuck the newlyweds back into casework now, can I? Anyhow, I hope that you enjoy this...all the emotive stuff is not really my forte, but I'm giving it a go.**

* * *

_Saturday, March 26th, 2011 - New Orleans (16th Day of Lent)_

Temperance Brennan awoke with a small start in the darkened hotel room; the air-conditioning unit gave a click and cycled off, leaving the suite preternaturally quiet. the muted sounds of a New Orleans evening beckoned outside the window. Laid on her side, she scrunched up her face feeling something soft and moist against her cheek; it smelled very pleasant, the scent tickled at her nose. Hearing a low snuffle that threatened to escalate into a snore, the events of the previous twenty-four hours returned to her now alert mind. The rose petal particulate stuck to her cheek, the tangle of bedclothes between them, her chosen mate laid beside her. Her body ached deliciously in intimate places and her stomach gave a betraying rumble of complaint. She rolled onto her back stretching her arms above her head and smiled, dislodging the rose petal.

.

It still felt surreal. For the first time in fifteen years she belonged, truly belonged, in an honest loving relationship. She knew that her body was flying high on feel-good biochemistry, but it didn't fully account for the floaty sensation under her diaphragm, the helium-type lightness sat at the apex of her lungs, or the foolish grin that refused to quit gracing her face. The feeling was two parts joy and one part fear, exhilarating and scary, like being poised to abseil, or bungee jump. The antique Claddagh on her left hand still felt heavy, its weight distracting. It was a physical reminder of the commitment that she had made. Weighing her emotions on the issue, she had no regrets; but plenty of futile niggling concerns worried at her joy as to whether this would change.

Glancing at the numerals on the alarm clock she knew that they should get up, bathe and dress for dinner; they had stayed in bed for the entire day. Turning her head on the pillow she focused upon the contours of the man laid beside her. In the low evening light, his body appeared to be sculpted out the surface on which he lay; the draping of bed linen over his lower body suggesting that which the sculptor would eventually chisel out. Feeling her own body responding to the visual stimulus, she pressed her lips and her thighs together against the wave of physical attraction that tugged at her; encouraging her to renew the addictive physical connection that she knew made her feel so damned good.

.

His eyes opened from his light napping state and took in her intent scrutiny. It was too dark now to see her eyes, but her expression of concentration and the slight tension in her body made him smile.

"Male. Mid-thirties, to early forties. One hundred and eighty-five to one hundred and ninety centimetres...ninety to ninety three kilograms. Caucasian...well muscled. Ring on the left hand indicates that he is married," he droned in a passable impression of his wife at a crime scene. He lifted the sheet from his lower body with a low chuckle. "Oh! He has an extra bone...how can that be?"

"Hey! Don't be mean..." she said with a laugh, as she rolled over to face him. "And I'll have you know that what is under that sheet is _'not'_ a bone."

"Are you absolutely satisfied that's what the _'evidence'_ tells you?" he asked, pulling her against him; with said evidence nudging at her suggestively.

"I have examined the _'evidence'_...but I'm unsure as to why you are questioning my satisfaction." Her tone deepened and softened. "I am very satisfied."

"Hey...that's my priority now...as your husband and all," he replied placing his forehead against hers. "You and me...don't you ever doubt it."

"I don't, and I won't...but I wonder if it is even possible to live up to that standard?" she asked, quickly elaborating her point when she saw the flash of self-doubt cross his face. "I don't need you to put me, or us first to be happy...we have no way of knowing what challenges are ahead...I accept that you may not always love me the way you do now. But isn't it more important that we make the effort, no matter what?"

"God, Temperance...when did you get so tuned into love and commitment?" he said rhetorically. "Goals and standards and expectations...that's always been you...now you tell me that you're gonna be satisfied so long as we make an effort?"

She gave a throaty chuckle and trailed her fingers along his mandible. "I'm a fast learner, and I can assure you that I still have standards...but for you, there is a private, more fundamental place in my life; one that doesn't have to be overly complicated. You gave me the key to this when we agreed upon the place in our relationship that was just between us; when I discovered along the way that this was the place that I could allow myself to be loved...allow myself to love another person..." she gave a wry smile and raised a brow, "...you. I was afraid, scared enough to make a mistake, one that I will always regret."

"Everything fell into place eventually, Bones, and I'm thankful for that," he said. "We both had to learn some lessons along the way. Painful lessons."

"I know," she said. "For the future, our future, if you identify a problem, be sure to tell me about it Booth...talk to me...really talk to me. Despite my independent nature and preference for solitude, I have no desire to revisit those lessons, no desire to be truly alone."

"Me neither, I'll be sure to talk to you, amongst other things...," he said, deciding to put a hold on the conversation in favour of his overwhelming need to kiss her again. At her completely uninhibited moan into his mouth he redoubled his efforts triggering the cycle of contact that wound them both up tighter than an innocent man's alibi.

.

Parting briefly, breathing harshly, he pulled her over him and gave a wide grin. "This is one of my fantasies, y'know?"

"Engaging in sex? That is currently our reality," she asserted cheekily, tweaking his nipple playfully. "Did that feel real to you?" she asked.

"Ow!" he complained. "I mean staying in bed with you. All day. Talking, sleeping, a little sexy fun..."

"That's true enough. Generally, we don't have time to stay in bed all day," she gave a grin, then breathed out with a small shiver, as she settled herself in preparation for another go around. Booth gave a small wince. "A little sore?" she asked.

"Uh huh, maybe too much sexy fun," he said. "Worth it though,...even if I walk funny for a week."

"Well, soon we have to get ready to go to dinner, but we need to shower and you need to shave...I find myself with beard burn in improbable places," she advised him in a sultry tone.

"Aww, I'll kiss it better..." he suggested in a babying tone.

"Which will perpetuate yet more beard burn," she announced in mock resignation before they went about ending the conversation, the urge to fly on the wings of feel-good biochemistry too powerful to ignore.

.

* * *

Dinner was going to be a quiet event, on account of most of their guests returning to their homes and commitments already. Booth and Brennan would be flying out to New York City on the following morning, but dinner with Pops and Max had been arranged for this evening. Their parental figures would be traveling back to D.C. taking a more relaxed scenic route.

The two rascally old-timers were enjoying a beer in a lush garden restaurant in the French Quarter.

"Do you think they're even out of bed yet?" asked Hank, giving a satisfied smack of his lips after swallowing a mouthful of his cold beer.

"Tempe said they'd be here," assured Max. "Just because she's head over heels for your grandson, doesn't mean she'd stand up her old man, old-timer."

"Tough talk from the man who just gave his daughter away," teased Hank.

"Are you going to be this big a pain in the ass all the way back to D.C.?" asked Max.

"Sure am. How about you?" quipped Hank.

"Just wondering if we can get _'grumpy old men'_ discount on our rental is all," said Max with a wide smile, toasting the older man with his beer.

"Hey, here they come, Max!" announced Hank. "They're both still able to walk at least. At one point during the reception dinner, I thought that they were desperate enough to jump overboard and swim back to shore."

Max gave a dark chuckle. "No, no, old-timer. That was just because of Daisy and the whole _'Friday panties'_ debacle."

"Ha!" laughed Hank. "I thought she'd escaped some sort of burlesque floorshow from the lower decks. Do you really think she could have done that thing she said...with the billiard balls? 'Cause, I was in a club in the Philippines when I was deployed overseas, and for a crisp US dollar bill, there was this girl with ping pong balls..."

Max held up his hand. "Maybe you should tell me that story when we get on the road tomorrow."

.

They stood up to greet the newlyweds and exchanged hugs and kisses. Within thirty seconds of them being seated a staff member arrived to hand out menus and take drink orders. Both Brennan and Booth ordered a beer.

"We were taking bets that you two wouldn't even get out of bed," cackled Pops.

Brennan smirked at Booth. "I consider the two of you sufficient reason to leave our bed for a few hours," she remarked blithely attempting to keep a straight face. "Besides which, I am extremely hungry."

Max looked at his daughter and gave a small smile as he shook his head at her quirky mash up of humour and bluntness, it was completely endearing.

.

Booth picked up a menu and glanced at the available selections and began salivating. He was starving. "So, what brought on the urge to drive back to D.C.?" asked Booth conversationally. "Aren't you two a little old for a road trip?"

"Some of us aren't in any hurry to get home, Shrimp," advised Hank. "Max mentioned taking a detour to Graceland and I want to see Nashville, pick up a few musical souvenirs for some of the ladies back at the retirement home...they're all mostly suckers for a good country love song."

"That's right," chimed in Max. "Plus, I've always wanted to see the home of Elvis."

"Right...a music loving Thelma and Louise," teased Booth as he reached for the wine menu at the same time as Brennan. A small tug of war ensued which escalated into shoulder bumping and rib poking.

"Geez, settle down you two...anyone would think you were newlyweds or something!" complained Max.

.

Brennan rolled her eyes and pinned Booth's wrist to the surface of the table employing a nerve block."We _are_ newlyweds, Dad. So I see no reason to censor my behaviour, which is currently being influenced by euphoric quantities of biochemicals related to our engaging in sex."

Booth moved in and strategically kissed the side of her neck, snatching the wine menu as she squirmed in response. He sat back with a cocky smile and she gave him a look that suggested that he would pay for that dirty move later.

"I guess we should keep it _'PG'_ for Thelma and Louise here, Bones," suggested Booth.

She gave a smile of recognition, "I recall Angela explaining the plot of this movie to me using the _Angelatron_, as justification for her assertion that taking Jelly Shots from the torso of Brad Pitt, would be a more stimulating experience than from the torso of another actor, who I asserted had superior musculature."

"You watched Thelma and Louise at the Lab?" asked Booth.

"Not all of it, just the scenes on You Tube pertinent to the discussion," she replied earnestly. "Her argument was based upon the influence of introducing of an illicit sexual element to an already complex plot line. Angela said that the additional danger of the interlude with the cowboy character role made Brad Pitt the more attractive choice."

Max gave a laugh. "We're not planning on going on a crime spree, Honey." Hank laughed raucously at the thought.

"I am relieved to hear that," she replied.

"Me too," said Booth. "I'd be upset if you drove a classic 1966 Thunderbird off a cliff. That would be a crime."

"I don't think there are cliffs on the route between here and D.C. that would permit that scenario," she commented thoughtfully. "Not that I would be happy to hear about your encountering any misfortune on your way home."

"Don't worry, Sweetheart! We'll behave, right Max?" said Hank, patting Brennan's hand reassuringly.

.

A waitperson came over to take their orders. Booth ordered a large selection of food. So did his wife, who was also hungry and obviously not to be outdone.

"My apartment will be habitable again by the time we return from New York," announced Brennan conversationally.

"So now you've got to decide where to live," said Hank.

She smiled fondly at the old man. "I have left that decision to Booth, Hank. No doubt, we will be purchasing a new property at some point; but until then, I am comfortable living wherever my husband prefers to be."

"Ooh, 'Husband'? Trying on that possessive term for size, are we Bones?" said Booth with a grin. "It's very wifely..."

"The descriptor is accurate. We need to become accustomed to our change in status," she reasoned.

"Hey, I'm totally with you here. Happy to adjust with you…any way you need," said Booth slinging an arm around her shoulder.

Max gave a laugh. "Right…we all know what you really mean by 'adjusting' there G-Man."

.

A four-way bickering session and laughter provided an amusing distraction until their food arrived.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so it was a little slower and not so sparky…but NYC is on the horizon, so hopefully you'll stick with me on this…**


	20. She Blinded Me With Science

**The Perfect Path in the Pie**

**Chapter 19 - She Blinded Me With Science**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own BONES. I also do not own _'She Blinded Me With Science' _by Thomas Dolby.

**A/N: So here we are at **_**'Bonus' **_**Chapter number three, which features a song from one of my Playlists. This is a transition chapter to B&B happenings in the 'Big Apple' – my thanks to Rankor01 for Beta assistance…this was a difficult chapter to put together.**

* * *

_Sunday March 27th 2011 - New York City - Third Sunday in Lent_

Taking a slightly later flight to New York City had turned out to be a good idea. Not only had Booth and Brennan been able to relax over breakfast together; they had also managed to dodge most of the Paparazzi at the airport via the ruse. There had been some time for a spirited discussion over breakfast about whether to take the opportunity to join the Mile High Club on this particular flight. Surprisingly, Booth suggested that they use the flight time of just over three hours to catch up on briefings and case notes in preparation for their return to Taskforce work on Monday morning. The suggestion was delivered so smoothly that Brennan didn't realize that her husband simply had ulterior motives for their evening. Given their sudden nuptials and the interagency pissing contest that would see them racking up more frequent flyer miles than Charlie Sheen's_ 'Winner Miles' _through rehabilitation facilities, they had decided to take a belated Honeymoon at the completion of their Taskforce involvement in a few weeks time. Hopefully, the planned short period of leave would be coincide with the lull between the investigative processes and the predictable flurry of legal proceedings that would follow in a couple of months time.

.

Approximately two hours into the flight, Booth made a small grunt of exclamation when he opened an e-mail from New Orleans SAC Derulo, the FBI's most unwanted misogynist. Working industriously on a fiendishly complicated technical deposition, Brennan's attention wavered as she glanced at the raised brows and incredulous expression gracing the face of her erstwhile partner and husband.

.

"I didn't see that coming..." said Booth."Did you see the message from Derulo, Bones?"

Brennan gave a low chuckle. "I saw the message, but I was saving the content of that email until later. Did he find something?" she asked.

"Yeah, he did. He found _'someone'_ actually; a woman," he replied, his tone indicating surprise.

"As in Homo sapiens without a Y chromosome, demoralized enough to engage in sexual intercourse with him?" she proclaimed with heavy sarcasm.

"Ooohh, ouch!" winced Booth. "Do I detect a hint of belligerent snarkiness in the tone of _my wife_?"

"Absolutely. Mr. Derulo, despite his pivotal role on the New Orleans branch of the Taskforce, is a pariah on civilization. I frequently found myself resisting a strong urge to strike him," she replied, giving a fond smirk at Booth's possessive use of _'my wife'_; they were playing a subtle bantering game, slipping the monikers through the goalposts when they could, but the usage had to be subtle to be _'paid'_. Brennan held out her left fist and Booth gave a small _'woot'_ of triumph as they fist bumped their wedding rings together.

"Derulo's team managed to collar the perp with the hook," announced Booth, placing his hand over hers now that he had her attention for a moment.

Brennan quietly conceded to the reality of his warm hand being responsible for triggering a plethora of Pavlovian perversions within her neural and limbic systems. Fortunately, the core of her rational genius was, as yet, largely impervious to his charms and didn't miss a trick about the news in Derulo's message.

"My primary analysis of the injury patterns indicated a _'male' _of short stature...a female perpetrator would have to be abnormally strong to have committed the crimes. The damage evident on the bones of the victims from both Chicago and New Orleans supports the abnormal directionality of a hook being used when restraining forces applied the bindings to the upper and lower limbs. The strength required by the perpetrator in all cases falls outside the accepted range for females, particularly a woman of only 160 to 170 centimeters in stature."

Booth turned his laptop screen toward her and she leaned in to look closely at the mug-shot and arrest record on the screen. "Remarkable," she breathed.

"Yeah, I know, I'm pretty special...it's why you married me, right?" he mumbled against her ear as her began aimlessly nuzzling at her hair.

"_You_, are distracting me!" she warned, pulling away with a wry grin that hinted that she was in fact enjoying every second of it. "From the build and physical appearance evident in this photograph, I would suggest that this woman has been a habitual abuser of anabolic steroids. Her over-developed musculature and the bony prominences in this side shot indicate that she has trained heavily with weights, for a number of years, perhaps as a competitive body builder, or as a weight lifter."

"Now _you're_ distracting me..." complained Booth. "It always amazes me how much you can tell me from a mug shot. She's a twenty-eight year old Chinese national, ex-champion weightlifter, got kicked off the Olympic team when she was busted at a qualifying event for testing positive for _'juice'_. Spent some time in jail for going on a _'rhoid-fueled' _rampage, when the authorities wouldn't let her train. She almost killed her trainer with her bare hands. Probably got recruited to the _'No Han Han'_ in jail."

Brennan frowned and shifted in her seat. "Her coach should be the one incarcerated in jail, Booth. The violence and associated criminal activity is likely to be a behavioral sequelae of long term steroid abuse. That is very sad. Does her criminal record make reference to the mechanism of injury which resulted in her hand being amputated?" she asked.

Booth closed the arrest record window and glanced through the narrative text of the message from Derulo. "Yeah, badly injured in a motorbike accident, five years ago, slid the bike under a truck and was trapped. Traumatic amputation of the hand, head injury, badly mangled leg; Doctors managed to save the leg though. She walks with a limp."

Brennan's attention perked up. "A limp? The damage was to the right leg?" she asked, her free fingers flashing over the scroll pad and keyboard of her notebook, calling up a series of forensic reports and photographs that tiled over the screen of the device like a hand of cards being spread over a table.

"Yeah, is that important? Because you've got that look on your face..." he said with a knowing tilt of his head and a wry smile.

Still intent on scrolling through the information in front of her, she didn't even glance his way. "What _'look'_ would that be?" she asked absently.

"The one that tells me that pretty soon I'll be busy requesting Warrants and racking up charges to convict someone," he replied.

She nodded but made a caveat on his assessment. "That course of action will probably have to wait until Monday morning, Booth. I have to examine the physical evidence of victim number two in New York before I can provide you with sufficient evidence to bust a move.

Booth gave a snort of laughter. "Bust a move?"

Brennan smiled and pouted a little, recognizing that she'd suffered acute idiom failure. "From your reaction, I'll venture that _'bust a move'_ is not legitimate cop slang."

He leaned in and squeezed the hand he was holding. "Making a bust...having enough evidence to make a move...cop slang. _Busting a move_...street-dancer slang. Cute though, Bones, very cute!" he said, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek.

She glanced sidelong at him and gave a small huff of derision. "Cute is for puppies and babies."

He met her glance with a look which was definitely designated as _'off the clock'_. "All in good time, Bones...just tell me what the deal is with victim number two. You haven't even laid a finger on the bones yet."

.

She extricated her hand from his and pointed at an image and a diagram that now dominated the screen of her laptop. Noting that their escalating banter was attracting attention from the seats across the aisle; she turned the screen away from the view of prying eyes, lowered her voice and began speaking next to his ear.

"According to the physical evidence log from the scene in New York, where the remains of victim number two were recovered, casts were made of frozen tracks leading to and from the location of the remains. The impressions identified that they were made by standard issue boots, available through Army surplus outlets, the size of the boot is smaller than the average male foot, which would approximate to an average sized female foot. The gait indicators in the tracks are consistent with an individual carrying an injury, to the right leg, Booth," she announced with a note of triumph at making the connection.

"You're a genius, Bones," he announced, turning his head toward her, so that the lips that had been giving low volume evidence against his ear were now almost touching his. The dialogue concerning her piecing together of another clue in the _No Han Han_ puzzle had been distractingly punctuated by the subtle seductive puffs of breath exhaled against the shell of his ear. His eyes flicked down toward her lips and the tiny twitch at the right corner of her mouth betrayed that seduction was precisely what she intended.

"I would expect my husband to be cognizant of that fact," she murmured in an intimate tone before preventing their lips from meeting by tapping him gently on the sternum. He glanced sideways to see her left fist hovering expectantly for a wedding ring fist bump.

Booth grinned and his eyes crinkled with amusement. "You want me to pay that?" he asked of her _'my husband'_ mention.

"You want me to kiss you?" she retorted, giving a meaningful glance and a micro nod toward her waiting fist.

He gave a sigh and smiled, his left fist bumping hers, the antique gold Claddagh rings making a small clink upon contact. Their fists unfurled as their hands reached for each other to physically connect in tandem with their lips for what proved to be a first class make out session, in First Class.

* * *

As evening fell and their preparations for the early morning NYC team briefing at the Manhattan office of the FBI were completed, Seeley Booth encouraged his wife to shut down her laptop computer, hovering behind the desk where she was again working industriously...because he was hungry.

"If you hand me the Room Service menu, we can make a selection and remedy the issue of your hunger," she announced. "I could use the additional time to run another couple of cross referencing queries against this database," she reasoned, waving her hand at the laptop and one of the hard copy records that the New York SAC had been kind enough to deliver to the Ritz-Carlton, despite Booth's suggestion to the contrary. Clearly his colleague had buckled under pressure following an order from his partner in her most domineering mood.

"No Room Service, Temperance," he pronounced. "Get dressed, _'your husband'_, is taking you out to dinner!"

Brennan gave a sly smile and stood to face him, her arm still draped over the back of the chair, her fingers trailing suggestively along the carved wooden frame. When she spoke, her voice was a low sultry drawl that triggered Seeley Booth's desire to simply strip down and assume the position. "You should hide in the closet, lover..._'my husband'_ is coming to take me out to dinner..."

He gave her a bemused look as her arms slid around his neck and her fingers traced the border of his hairline above his shirt collar. "Save that thought and that voice for later. I made a reservation, and I guarantee you're gonna enjoy this meal...we're going to Chinatown," he disclosed, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Wouldn't you prefer to stay in? We could order in…" she suggested, still in vamp mode and nipping lightly at the sternal notch that was exposed by his open shirt neck.

He gave a light slap of reprimand to her ass, causing her face to tilt up and pout at him. "Behave, woman!" he chided. His gut chose that moment to growl meaningfully. "Hear that? I need authentic Chinese food, or I'll fade away."

She sighed dramatically and extracted herself from their embrace. "Do I need to dress up?" asked Brennan making a show of flouncing off toward the bedroom of their hotel suite. Yet again, she had switched the accommodation allocated to them by the FBI, pissing off the Agent who had picked them up from the airport earlier. Apparently, her publisher was picking up the tab again; all the publicity from the New Orleans leg of the trip had triggered reprints of her back catalogue. Pre-orders for her new book were already flooding in.

"Wear the green dress..." he called after her retreating back.

He heard a laugh from the bedroom. "You just want to ogle my cleavage over dinner!" she protested.

"Damned straight!" he agreed, triggering more laughter.

"Will you come through and zip me up?" she purred from the other room in her best vampy tone.

"Oh boy!" he said to himself, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he prepared to enter the layer of the minx also known as his wife.

* * *

An hour later, they exited the cab that dropped them off on the edge of Chinatown and Booth took her hand to lead her to the doorway of a small establishment that sported a highly lacquered red door. Inside, there was a small coat checking closet and a petite Asian woman greeted them in a Bronx drawl that reminded Brennan of Cam's speech inflections during her feistier moments. They were quickly seated in a small half-moon shaped booth which had a bright Chinese paper banner hung on the wall above it.

"That banner is no coincidence, Booth," she observed. "The characters represent_ 'double happiness'_, did you tell them that we recently married?"

"It was all over the news, Dr. Brennan, so I took the liberty of adjusting the decor," said a familiar voice.

She grinned widely. "No menus on the tables, I should have made the connection. How are you, Sid? The Jeffersonian team often reminisce about your food. Is the New York trade more lucrative than D.C.?" she asked.

"Not really, but my kid is studying at Juilliard; plus gun crimes are marginally lower here than in D.C., so I can't complain. Congratulations, by the way. Dinner is on Sid tonight, call it a belated wedding gift," he said, spreading his hands in an encompassing gesture.

Booth stuck out his hand to shake Sid's "Hey, thanks man. Does this mean we get to choose? Because I'd kill for a bowl of..."

.

Sid held up a finger to silence Booth. "You know the drill, Seeley. Not even the beautiful face of your blushing bride will sway me on my policy. I'll be back in a minute with your entree. Yeungling for you Booth? And mineral water for the lady?" he asked, as he half-turned toward the bar.

"I am not blushing," muttered Brennan, who then promptly blushed in response.

"Thanks, yeah," replied Booth. He turned to Brennan with a grin of amazement. "That is uncanny, not an hour ago you were talking about cutting back on the booze...how does he do that?"

"I have no idea...this is quite reminiscent of our early years as partners," she observed.

.

Their drinks arrived and were quickly followed by entrees of soups in large bowls. Brennan took an experimental sip of the broth in the bowl and stirred the vegetables around before giving an approving pout and nod. Booth crowed his anticipation of devouring the chunks of lobster that featured in his own entree, and she made small talk about traditional Chinese wedding feast dishes while they made their way through the bowls.

Three more dishes arrived in sequence, with Brennan's eyes narrowing suspiciously as Sid announced each dish that he placed in front of them with his standard knowing flourish. Unable to stop herself at the arrival of the fourth course, she fixed Sid with a challenging glare.

"Is something not to your liking, _Mrs. Booth_?" asked Sid with an arched brow.

Booth choked on a piece of sea cucumber. "Seriously, man...even, I don't call her that...and she's my wife!"

.

Brennan dutifully paid Booth's use of _'my wife'_ by presenting the knuckles of her left hand toward him, her expression and stare unrelenting when Booth gave her knuckles a cautious bump. Sid's expression indicated that he found the behavior a little strange, but knowing this particular couple he categorized the impromptu fist bump as quirky-normal.

"This menu, Sid," she said waving her chopsticks at the demolished dishes on the table with her right hand. "It's delicious, but I'm an Anthropologist, I'm well-versed in Chinese culture...I know what it signifies."

"Well, I don't," complained Booth. "I know it tastes awesome though..."

"Thanks Booth, glad you think so...how about I make a pot of Green Tea for your lovely wife and she can give you an Anthropology lesson," suggested Sid, making a hasty exit as Brennan's lips flattened into an unimpressed line.

Booth wrapped his fingers around her left hand that was still curled into a fist on the red tablecloth. "You're mad about something...c'mon tell me what he did…are you gonna call in an assassin from the American Anthropological Association to take Sid out?" he asked with a grin.

She let out a pent up breath, stabbed at a piece of bok choy innocently bystanding in amongst the noodles remaining on her plate, then relaxed a little. "I'm not angry, Booth."

"Okay...not really buying that," he offered honestly.

Brennan put her chopsticks down. "I can't be angry at Sid if his assessment is accurate...perhaps _'bemused'_ would be a better term to describe my reaction," she said.

He slung an arm over the back of the booth and slid his arm behind her back. "You realize that you're gonna have to let me in on the significance of the dishes here, Bones."

"Every dish here is fertility food. Sid may not have a formal qualification, but he is a keen Culinary Anthropologist," she explained.

"Is there even such a thing?" asked Booth.

"Yes, of course there is!" she retorted with a smirk, mildly amused that he would believe that she would fabricate a branch of learning to make a point. "What interests me is how Sid somehow deduced that I stopped taking birth control pills following our discussion last night."

"Coincidence? Lucky guess?" suggested Booth. Immediately regretting his words when her brows raised in acute derision. "Fine...no speculation. I don't know how Sid does it either...besides, he's a little premature...you said it could happen as soon as next month or as far away as next year."

"Correct," she confirmed. "Sometimes, long term oral contraceptive use results in the formation of a mucus..."

"Whoa! Hold it right there on_ 'mucus' _and the whole icky family planning stuff...not over dinner," he pleaded, glancing around to see if anyone in the restaurant had heard her drop the the word _'contraceptive'_, relaxing slightly when he saw other patrons still with their heads down over their meals. He popped a stray morsel of something that looked strange, but tasted delicious, into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully as he smiled fondly at his wife as she revised what she was going to say.

"As my husband, it is probably advisable for you to familiarize yourself with how my body functions...particularly if you plan to be at the birth of our child," she advised, a crinkle appeared above the bridge of her nose and her face fell a little. "Do you want to be there, Booth? I realize that birth can be a confronting experience for males."

Brennan found herself pinned against the restaurant booth, sharing the taste of black bean and ginger on his tongue, as she took onboard his rapid and unannounced non-verbal reassurance.

A china tea set rattled politely as it was placed onto their table by Sid, interrupting their increasingly passionate palate cleansing kiss. "Here is your Green Tea. I see the dish selections were suitable, as always," he scoffed pleasantly. "Just keep in mind that this is a family establishment."

Brennan cleared her throat and adjusted the neckline of her green dress which was displaying a little too much heaving cleavage, thanks to the wandering hands of her partner. "Thank you, we will," she said with a small smile of acknowledgement at the quirky restaurateur.

Booth gave her a sheepish grin, but his eyes were all sincerity. "I'm all in, Temperance. Thick and thin. If they try to keep me away from the birth of our kid, I'll shoot my way in, okay?"

"Point taken," she replied. "Although, I imagine that guns are not permitted in birthing suites, even in extenuating circumstances."

"Fine. No guns. I'll settle for cutting the cord instead," he suggested.

"I am amenable to that arrangement," she said, rubbing a black bean particulate away from the corner of his mouth. "I find myself quite excited at the prospect. But I'm serious, Booth. You should take an interest in my body outside the realm of sexual intercourse."

Booth shot her a warning glance at her public mention of _'sexual intercourse' _and calmly picked up the tea pot, pouring them both a cup. "If you like, we can start tonight...just you and me though. I don't think the other diners are ready for your instruction."

"Agreed," she said, holding up her cup of Green Tea for a toast. The delicate china cups clinked together as their eyes met over the steaming beverage. "Do you think Sid will bring us dessert, or will making love have to suffice?"

Her husband shrugged noncommittally. "Dessert, I can take it or leave it, but if I get the choice, it would be all of the above."

* * *

**Thanks for reading...let me know what you think, I'm always happy to hear from you :D**


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